A New World to Conquer
by LordOfTheGrey
Summary: Reborn after my embarrassing fall at Godric's Hollow as the Potter brat was an interesting experience. Getting sorted into Hufflepuff, even more so. But reborn as the Lord of Winterfell in Westeros as my playground? Now that was new, even to a retired Dark Lord.
1. Chapter 1

**Reminiscing**

I sat pondering the last few centuries of my existence with my faithful companion Fawkes. I was always a survivor. From the day I was rather rudely thrown into the Dursley's home I recognized that I had absolutely no one in the world but myself.

So, observing my surroundings I quickly determined three facts. The first was that the Dursley's hated him and he hated them.

The second was that my relatives absolutely abhorred being "abnormal" and like any child genius I rubbed the fact that I was as abnormal as they come and threatened them quite frequently, as soon as I was able, that if they don't comply with my extravagant demands, a room and a healthy portion of food, I would show the whole bloody neighborhood that the Dursleys were freaks, further stressing my point with turning Tuney's neck pink with yellow polka dots and freezing Duddikens.

Alas, I still look back fondly at the memory of the Dursleys huddling behind the couch while I, Harry Potter, sat devouring their food.

….It all started when I was 4 and memories upon memories of Tom Riddle's first twenty years burst like a dam giving me a headache for days but upon my recovery, I had discovered that I was indeed a Wizard and through the memories and impressive mind of a young Dark Lord I practiced wandless magic and could successfully control my magic and bend it to my will.

And thus began my childhood, with three muggles accommodating to my every desire.

In retrospect, I should have simply _imperio_ 'd Petunia and the school Principal instead of having to go through school once again.

Tom always viewed education as his reprieve from the orphanage. As such, by the time he got his Hogwarts letter, he was already at high school level.

I blame my impatience.

I had thought if I successfully finish a few year early of schedule I would be free to pursue my Magical studies and the muggles would ignore me.

They didn't.

As I quickly breezed through the first 5 years of education, the muggles took notice of me. I was declared a child genius and gained a rather impressive amount of attention from the authorities. The Dursley's were praised for raising a child as smart as my own and for a small moment they seemingly ignored the fact that I was a wizard and happily ate praises for being upstanding members of the society.

Upon reaching the tender age of nine I was already a celebrity in the Muggle world and it was decided that I will join a University.

I couldn't let that happen. I have been building myself a steady reputation of a genius and while I certainly was one I wasn't of the caliber to finish education in five years.

Thankfully, my savior came in the form of a Dark Lord. By now I have thoroughly uncovered the Dark Lord past 70 years, turns out the Dark Lord was a fucking cheater. Sure he was smart and a great Wizard but he actually gained most of his knowledge by literally copying the minds of Masters of wizardry branches. It was a simple process that required a not so subtle legilemency so _It_ would have to be done in private. The only drawback was that with magicals, the process could only be done once as the influx of magical energy that accompanies the knowledge could cause your magic to implode, the Dark Lord simply used a ritual that involved… _unpleasent_ sacrifices. Up to this point I seriously considered continuing on his work of terrorizing muggles ,but I found that I simply lacked the motivation and I couldn't decide whether to thank him for his knowledge or curse him for killing my parents.

I decided to wait until my Fifth year counseling to decide my career choices.

So after wrangling the knowledge from dozens of University Professors, I remained unparalleled in my knowledge and the utmost genius in Great Britain.

All for the Glory of Lord Vold… Harry Potter!

Meeting with the Royal Family was an interesting experience. I squashed my more sociopathic instincts to imperio the Royal Family and claim the world under a banner of Pottery.

Apparently the Royal Family was aware of the existence of the magical community, I could sense with my superior senses that there were a couple of wizards in the service of protecting the Queen. That and they also asked me for an autograph from the boy-who-lived.

The Queen attempted to enlist my help into closing the gaps between the Magical and the Muggle community, due to my impressive achievements in both worlds and being a name that every child, man and woman knew in Europe by now

By now I have learned from the Muggles enough to know that they are dangerous, Way more dangerous than wizards. Due to my/tom's memories I realized that I couldn't actually rule by force and leading the Death Eaters wasn't fun, Tom originally started it as a fuck you to the pureblood wizards that tormented him back in school. It quickly evolved due to Dumbledore denying me the position of professor of the Dark Arts, or rather the Defense against it.

During mine.. tom's? interview I tried to impress my worth as a professor by proving my immense knowledge of Dark Arts and even creating a horcrux which I was going to show him to further impress and assure him that I knew what I was going to teach… against. Know thy enemy and all that nonsense.

He disagreed.

Offended and refused I cursed the DADA position so that no one could hold it for more than a year and stormed out of the castle. A little childish I agree but what do you expect from a child raised at an orphanage? All in all, I was a pretty sore loser.

The situation quickly escalated from that point. I legitimized my movement, enjoyed lording over the same assholes that tormented me in the past, _crucio'_ ed anyone who dared disagree with me, commissioned stylish uniforms, Creating a tattoo that practically announced to the world of our members probably wasn't the best idea in our first years but I was drunk on power and grief.

So, I considered my options. I was still an orphan, people looked up to me. If I couldn't take my place over the world as a Dark Lord, perhaps I could topple Dumbledore as a Light Lord and replace him, destroying the legacy he strived to build and build it myself as the Greatest Wizard in the World.

As I said Tom was a sore loser, and so was I.

The fact that I would enter the Political arena in the Wizarding World endorsed by the Monarch as well and that I wouldn't lose everything I built in the Muggle world was the deal breaker. I struggled too hard to build myself a reputation as one of the brightest minds in the worlds and even as a kid my influence was vast and wide.

I accepted.

I stroked the parchment of my Hogwarts letter with fondness, I still haven't figured out what I would do in the next 7 years. Would I spend them at Hogwarts while I could do better things to usurp Dumbledore and cement my power base in the ministry? Still too many factors to consider.

My knowledge of magic was unparalleled, even Dumbledore the old fool only managed to duel me because of the blasted Elder Wand. I was not going to spend my next couple of years learning how to transfigure matchsticks into needles and floating feathers. I had to build my political base.

Visiting Diagon Alley brought back memories. I still remember the first time I visited the alley. I stubbornly refused Dumbledore accompanying me to Diagon Alley the first time, even as a child I was an excellent judge of character. I hated him from the first meeting.

I mean seriously, who burns an orphan who struggled his whole life and was an outcast who relied on his power. Was he trying to prove a point? That more than everything made me strive to prove myself more powerful than him.

The rush of ecstasy and superiority was still the same as first time.

I effortlessly blended in the busy alley and it took all my willpower not to jump like a child. While I could use magic to an extent to remind the Dursley's who was the boss, I was significantly weaker without a wand, so being able to acquire a wand once more was something I really looked for.

While I would've loved to have my old yew wand, I couldn't actually get it without alerting Dumbledore that someone has crossed Godric's Hollow premises. Nevermind that the place contained sad memories for both sides of my person. As Lord Voldemort, there was my downfall.. and as Harry Potter there was the place I lost my family.

I entered the shop with a sense of trepidation wondering what my new wand would be. Perhaps another yew wand but this time with a basilisk fang, or perhaps a tree made of the legendary tree Yggdrasil with an essence of a dementor as a core. I could only wonder.

Ollivander is still as creepy as I can remember 60 years ago.

"Mr. Ollivander, I presume?" I asked the pale elderly man.

"Indeed, Mr. Potter I have thought that I would see you here soon" The man murmured.

What sort of a reaction should an 11 year old kid say to that? I quashed the urge to scream pedophile as I assumed normal kids don't jump to that conclusion so soon.

As my face contorted through multiple different emotions while I couldn't decide on what reaction to show, the man showed pity on me and chattered inanely to himself about my father's and mother's wands and a brief – completely wrong – explanation about wandlore. I mean seriously who believes that there are only 3 different types of core for all wands?

I began wondering whether I should've just gone to Gregorovitch for a different experience or even better, craft my own wand when the man interrupted me from my musing.

"Please try this one Mr. Potter." He said while handing me a rather plain wand.

"No, not this one" He snatched it quickly.

The following three hours were the most boring hours of my life, and I've had dinner with Abraxas Malfoy all while speaking of how wonderful his clone, son, Lucius was. So trust me, I knew boring.

An unsettling glint appeared in his eyes. Mumbling to his self, and looking to me with a mixture of curiosity, pity and anxiousness. I was half way through the door to report that blasted pedophile to the Aurors when he handed me a Holly wand.

Nothing.

At least the other wands I could feel some spark in it, its hard to describe it but for a person who studied extensively wandlore, there is some of sort quasi-sentience in the wand with a spark of life.

This one was absolutely silent.

The man stood silently perfectly imitating a fish for a moment until he regained his bearings and began muttering something about brother wands… Dumbledore… Fawkes.. Destiny and a whole lot of gibberish, He then snatched it out of my hand furiously and looked at me accusingly as if it was I who was the problem and not because he is such an incompetent dunderhead.

After about 10 minutes of silent handing wands and snatching them back I was interrupted from the rhythm by a warm feeling and multi-colored sparks emitting from my wand.

Finally, victory. As I looked slowly from my book and towards my wand I couldn't help but glance over Ollivander's gaze and was that… disappointment in his eyes? I finally looked at my wand and gasped.

Made of 7 & 1/4 inches of Rosewood and a bloody fucking Unicorn Hair.

I could've seriously lost now and then and started throwing around _crucio_ 's if it wasn't for the fact that I was a master occulemens.

I was Lord Voldemort… or Harry Potter.

The point was that my wand should've been something that striked fear in the heart of my enemies as they see it pointed at them. Not laugh because a pink tinted wooded was staring at them, and was that flowers tracing on the wand? Nevertheless, perhaps the Unicorn Hair was from the first Unicorn and was so temperamental that only I could control it.

But that didn't explain Ollivander's dispassionately intoning that it was 7 galleons and if I needed a holster perhaps?

No warnings, no omens of greatness, no interest… absolutely nothing.

"Thank you" I said, forcing the fakest smile barely restricting my eyes from turning red and lashing out in anger.

I had discovered while chatting with the hat that I wasn't , in fact, schizophrenic nor was I Harry Potter sharing the body with Lord Voldemort. Rather, I was Tom Riddle reborn as Harry Potter, with my malicousness and general evilness tempered by the pure soul of baby Harry. I was now Tom Piddle, or Harry Rotter.

I quickly disregarded Slytherin and Gryffindor. If I am to start a new world under my banner I can't align myself with the extreme dark or light factions so early.

Even my sorting remains one of the most unique in the history of Hogwarts

"Well you're going to have to go somewhere!" the Hat snapped.

This all started due to blocking my mind from that old hat's nose? Cloth? I quickly explained my World Domination plan and that yes, I understand that this ambition is worthy of going to Slytherin. No I won't go to Slytherin because it will alienate me from the other factions.

So we were stuck between one of the hardest choices in my life.

Puffers or Bookworms.

While the smart choice would be going to Ravenclaw as Puffers were automatically degraded as Stupid, Ambitionless Cowards. I remain apprehensive of going there. I was going to completely dominate the Wizarding Curriculum and strive to prove myself above them in each lesson. I had no inclination to deal with whiny bitching ravens. I would practically become their Messiah, Rowena Ravenclaw reborn, they ravens would "badger" me with questions everywhere I go and I needed somewhere to relax.

The hat interrupted my delicate and analytical musings, "Dumbledore, a galleon if you don't mind."

Dumbledore, being the manipulative old bastard he is, hadn't changed his expression at all nor shown any surprise toward the question, while all students and teachers murmured amongst each other.

" Dragon for Ravenclaw and Merlin for Hufflepuff? " The hat asked.

I shrugged vaguely.

Hufflepuff.

The miserable sods broke out in clapping at having THE Harry Potter in their house, as if it was the greatest event in their house since its founding. A not inaccurate belief.

I was going to be the smartest, sneakiest, and bravest I suppose.. puffer in the history of puffers. Their loyalty was truly endearing. I would have had a much easier time starting the Death eaters and probably conquer the World if my power base was made of Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin.

It seems that the Hufflepuffs are every bit as annoying as the Ravenclaws. Apparently I was the leader of the first year puffs. Unacceptable, my Influence would reach through every corner of Helga's puff, perhaps I should mark my own followers..

But seriously, I don't mind groveling but for a stranger to try and touch me? No, I don't need your quill my trust vault is probably worth all your family's body parts in potions ingredients. Yes, I do have ink what did you think I would write with, blood of my enemies? No, I don't actually remember killing the dark lord 10 years ago, do you remember breastfeeding you snot-nosed brat? No, unfortunately scars don't work that way.

After a few days thankfully, the questions stopped but I gained a new self-imposed nemesis in a form of a buck toothed frizzy brown creature. Apparently Miss Granger strived to be as good as me in the muggle world and couldn't, of course, so once again she thought she was something special when she found out she was a witch and again got her black bookish heart broken by my superiority over her in every aspect. It was nothing personal, I was just better than everybody.

She constantly tried to best me at every moment and cried at every class when I got every. Single. Spell. Better.

Her – and my- reprieve from failure and boredom came from a seemingly innocent Dumbledore that was amenable to my transfer to a higher grade if I wasn't struggling with the curriculum and seemingly learning nothing.

After much thinking on the matter I determined that I should jump ahead as to keep my Image of a Prodigy who could do nothing wrong in the eyes of the society. I only answered correctly the 1st and 2nd year examinations and made myself fail in the 3rd year exams. I had nothing to lose, and an 11 year old, even though I looked older, in higher than 3rd year was a bit ridiculous if I had to say so. As I was my usual show-off self, I took every single elective while I actually attending only Arithmany and Ancient Runes.

The year passed peacefully. I mean I was a Hufflepuff, no matter how famous, so I was practically friendly with everybody, Slytherins built connections with me due to my standing and family wealth, Ravencalws seeked my advanced knowledge, Gryffindors just loved associating with a light paragon such as myself and the Hufflepuffs were already shaping up to my cult. I had no real "friends" to note .

Hufflepuff won the House Cup, mainly due to my superior presence amongst them. I basked in the glory and maintained my manners and smiled patiently and politely and let the sheep cheer in an absolutely barbaric manner, apparently Hufflepuff hasn't won the House Cup since 1783. If I knew how pathetic they were I would've had second doubts, but I found that taking an absolutely pitiful thing from the beginning and re-moulding it and shape it to greatness was for exciting than being a member of the Elite House of Slytherin for example.

I got O's in every single subject, Even History Of Magic, and was rewarded with a year supply of Honeydukes Chocolate. Apparently this was the first time anyone got straight O's in his third year since Albus Dumbledore in 1904. I thought it should be noted that I skipped 2 years and got straight O's while taking all my electives but alas, I don't control the press.

I re-joined the Muggle world briefly in the Summer and I now am the only 12 year old that has 5 PhDs in the World. I couldn't actually let the people forget me. While I would've loved to watch the Dursley's squirm while I live with them. I couldn't actually as even with training I barely tolerated them. So I rented an apartment in Diagon Alley and began my endeavor in finding a Media Representive who could provide Propaganda for the Magical Community and so I could actually control what was being written of me.

Turns out I owned 37.6% of the Daily Prophet with the combined shares of The Potter-Black accounts, after 'donating' a sizable amount to the Prophet so they could expand. I found my vision in the form of a Blonde, Green insect with an almost hungry gaze in her eyes.

Rita Skeeter was everything I imagined her to be , sweet when she wanted to, influential, and could spin a tale of my AK'ing someone to a tragic incident where the Boy-Who-Lived saved the world again.

She was perfect!

With a bit of flattery, charm and a monthly 2,000 galleons contract signed with a blood quill at Gringotts, Rita Skeeter was my Exclusive Editor. She even wanted to start having talks of a book and I admit I was highly intrigued, for some reason no editor wanted to write my Autobiography as a Dark Lord so I relished the opportunity but decided to delay it a bit until I entered the Political Arena.

I admit I was surprised when I found the same dunderhead that taught us DADA last year teaching us this year, I thought my curse was still in effect. Turns out that the moment I, or rather my past self died the curse was lifted.

This was worrying.

A thousand question began to flow around my head, did that mean my horcruxes failed? What was my mortality status right now?

I quickly checked my closest Horcrux in the Room of Requirment and found out that that my soul piece was gone. I didn't understand. Did they pass onto the afterlife or were they merged back with me? I had an inkling that Horcruxes didn't actually work. I mean where were the thousands of Egyptians Pharaohs and Wizards how split their souls? Where was Herpo the Foul? After all the atrocities I did and the mental damage I suffered from splitting my soul and in the end it was useless?

I decided to not waste any more heirlooms and since my piece soul has seemingly gone poof from the diadem I would present the Diadem lost to the centuries to the Headmaster and earn even more praise for recovering such a precious artificat. All Hail Lord Voldemort.

I quickly thought about it and determined that without my OWLs everything was on standby. I couldn't even open a project, invest with my accounts or enter Wizengamot sessions. So unsurprisingly, I took yet another Placement test and found myself sitting with the 5th years and Dumbledore smiling a proud smile at me and… was that a tear in McGonnagal's Eyes? Probably bemoaning the fact that the smartest girl in her Gryffindorks' couldn't hold a candle to the glory of the badgers.

Oh gods, I am starting to think like a puff.

I had a new stalker in the form of a 11 year old red-haired brat, who apparently thought that we were to be married because her mother told her so. Apparently she was a Weasley, I decided to stay the hell away from them, they were probably after my family's money. The most notable thing during that year was finding my chronicles –not diary- in the bag of the little weaslette.

I didn't know what to make of the situation. Here was a girl who stalked me through my classes and had my old self's chronicles in her bag. I automatically became on guard and even contemplated scanning her mind to find her intentions but found myself afraid of the consequences and assumptions she would make if our eyes meet.

I refrained in the end.

Once again, I won the House Cup for my loyal followers who were becoming month after month more smug and even standing proudly amongst Slytherins and Gryffindors.

I breezed through the exams and maintained my rather impressive following in Hufflepuff. While I remained friendless I had contacts with almost every important person in our community by now. Be it the owner of the biggest Potions Apothecary in the UK or the head of a lousy department. I knew each and every single one of them. Rita also manages to provide me with information that is known to no one else. She had dirt on almost everybody, coupled with the Black Book by Cassiopia Black I found in the Black Vault. We could blackmail almost anyone in the Wizarding World.

I was congratulated by the Minister, The Chief Warlock (Dumbledore), The Supreme Mugwump (Also Dumbledore) , the headmaster (Surprisingly, Dumbledore) and Bathilda Bagshot for receiving 12 O's in my Owls and the highest grades since Albus Dumbledore in 1909. In an article that showed me as charismatic, intelligent and charming and completely overshadowing Dumbledore by Rita Skeeter. I was greeted by almost everybody in the Alley and by the end of the Summer I became a common face always there for everybody and everyone from the deepest slums in Knockturn Alley to The Leaky Cauldron bragged that they knew me "personally" to their friend.

While not an impressive achievement for a 70 year old Dark Lord, I relished in the attention and praise from every corner of the wizarding world as a 13 year old teenager.

But enough of that. For my greatest achievements and eventual ascension to the top of the Wizarding World truly began in my 6th year.

 _AN/: I would like to point out that I was actually influenced in my writing by a few fanfictions and this is the first time I ever try to write something like this. Please point out to me any consistent Grammar mistakes so I could make sure not to repeat them and reviewing is appreciated_

 _AN2/:Just one more chapter in the HP world then we can move to ASOIAF world. I just want to build a solid non-canon base so I could rely on it further along the story. All suggestions are appreciated._


	2. Chapter 2

_AN:/ I hope to have covered everything in the HP world in this chapter. Review and ask any questions._

Following the end of my O.W.L.s and a failed Job Counseling which ended with Professor Sprout obliviated and once again my faith in Hogwarts broken and their close mindedness, I began pondering my choices in life.

You have to understand that by the time I had graduated the first time, the number of Mudbloods were less than Half-bloods and Purebloods by a margin. Looking back now, if there were no World Wars, I probably would've united the so-called oppressed faction of the Wizarding World against the Purebloods. But I had no funding and the rich were usually Purebloods, That and it felt good squandering their money. I honestly had absolutely no belief in blood superiority. In my first life, I was a half-blood with a squib as a mother and a filthy muggle as a father and I still reigned supreme over the other slytherins. My only concern regarding blood was the maintenance of ancient bloodlines.

My only problems were that if I _did_ support them against the minority Purebloods I had to have a pretty large funding, and I wasn't going to waste my money with no revenue to back it up.

I found my answer and funding in the form of the one thing that muggle-borns and half-bloods tried and failed over and over again. Making muggle electronics work in the Wizarding World. They may have failed repeatedly but I, Harry Potter, was far more superior than any wizard, Pureblood or not.

Turns out, even with my intelligence I hit a wall with my research. Apparently Magic makes the electrons inside of any metal goes fuzzy as fuck, which causes the wires to melt rather spectaculary. While I could replace the copper wires with a more stable conduit of magic, I would have to also replace every microchip, wire in any appliance with runes, which essentially meant I would be rebuilding the whole thing. I found my answer in the creepy old wandmaker known as Ollivander. I had put some sort of a miniature wands with the core of a 3-Year-Old Nargle, turns out the buzzing sound usually accompanied with Nargles was the sound of magic being sucked to maintain its invisibility. Using these nifty creatures I managed to amplify their effect into a wooden ball – a conduit of magic – and place runes that only allows magic inside and transform it and release it as electricity. There was only a problem of their discharging and the extinction of their illustrious species but that was quickly remedied by the Potter-Lovegood Mythical Creatures Natural Reserve. While I got billions almost as soon as we began selling our appliances that work anywhere to muggleborns and halfbloods who wanted to live in the Wizarding World , the Natural Reserve was my first step into the Political Arena

* * *

My Sixth Year arrived with no special surprises, except that Sirius Black and Bellatrix managed to fight each other and got their souls kissed by the dementors over a game of Gobstones. Why they allow Gobstones in Azkaban, we can only guess. But I was now the head of the Black Family. Lucius threw a hissy fit ofcourse as his son had a higher claim than I, but the will of Sirius Black coupled with the Black blood I had and a completely unrelated gesture of my eyes turning red and filled with malicious intent, which I am quite sure the goblin noticed but chose to ignore, and he started sputtering apologizes and tripping out of the bank as fancifully as a Malfoy can.

I still look upon my Seventh year with fondness, The Goblet of Fire was introduced at the beginning of the year and as this was my last year in Hogwarts and I don't actually need to study 12 Newts or not. I decided that I would go out with a bang and win that children's tournament as I was bought from the moment Dumbledore uttered eternal glory.

I was mightily disappointed of course, get a golden egg? While I wanted to carve the stone which the nest sat upon and summon it as whole or even summon and banish the dragons neck simultaneously, I always had a flair for theatrics. In a mighty battle which I turn the Dragon's fire into a fiendy dragon of itself and made it attack the dragon, summoned chains of steel from the ground as if they were summoned from hell itself, and proceeded to subdue the dragon in an impressive fashion in an act of magic that these children have probably never seen before and got my egg in ten minutes.

The second task was equally as disappointing as the first. Still I think I was pretty impressive, I pulled a Moses during the second task and actually fucking parted the Lake for the spectators which had the judges of the foreign schools gaping.

The third task was truly fucking boring, As I was set first to go, The moment the bell rang I had already carved out a path dead center in the maze, transformed into my animagus form – a rather good looking Dark Phoenix, Black and Gold and 5 times as big as Fawkes, got the Goblet and arrived back all in less than 50 seconds.

I appreciated the one thousand galleon which were promptly sent to as an incentive for research as I couldn't "encourage" my researchers with crucio's these days. Truly being evil was far more liberating but I actually cringe these days and shy away from actual torture; an unfortunate side effect of being reborn.

* * *

I utterly smashed my way through the records for the NEWTS, I mean getting all O's was impressive in itself but getting 12 O's and the highest grade in every single NEWT was a first in 690 years!

I returned to the Muggle World head held up high and disgustingly rich with the best research facilities anyone can afford in both worlds, both were working together with the strongest Dark secrecy charms that I could cast, pouring money in my pockets.

I was quickly surrounded by wealthy purebloods who all wished that I join their factions, I gently rebuffed all of them. I was going to break wizarding politics forever!

I had already started attending Wizengamot sessions; almost everybody was kissing my ass. I was firmly neutral for the first 5 years as I spent them pilfering through Nicholas Flamel's knowledge and eventually making my own Philosopher's stone, it was only 20 years later that I had discovered that it was by a request from Dumbledore that he offered an apprenticeship to me. I loved the irony of Dumbledore giving me even more secret knowledge, the old man actually died on 1999 by choking on a lemon drop. I honestly had nothing to do with it. Fawkes decided to join me on my immortal conquest throughout the world, it also may had something to do with my beautiful anamigus form.

* * *

The following decades passed in a blur, I supported the half bloods and mud bloods while periodically influencing the minds of the Pureblood children by compulsions to shy away from marrying other purebloods, in 50 years there was not a single Pureblood in Britain.

Following the Pureblood extinction, The wizarding community made itself invaluable towards the muggles mostly by few enchantments and runes carved on generators to make them run on magic, unbreakable charms and everlasting-motion runes did wonders to the muggles. The entire world energy was soon supported by secret facilities that were mostly run by muggles and only called in periodically for maintenances and improvements. In return nuclear weapons, missiles, bullets and almost every way to kill a person was available for us to study which we promptly made Magical-Areas-Only wards against.

Regardless of the prosperity of Muggles and the symbiotic relationship between us, it was soon evident that we couldn't live comfortably while the muggles continued polluting the world, it was a shit-hole living in most places in the world by the year 2200. The earth was getting seriously cramped and the pollution was harming magic as a whole.

It was ridiculously easy to place subtle compulsions on World Leaders and send a discreet nuke bomb from North Korea to The United States and boom! A third world war which ended up with almost the entirety of earth filled with radioactive waste and almost 98% of the muggles dead, their farms unusable and whoever left alive was barely hanging off life.

The radioactive waste took almost 30 years to cleanse using druidic magic and massive cleansing rituals that used almost all the remaining muggles blood. It was seen as a fair recompense for the destruction their species has done to the planet.

The earth was soon back in top shape and I had finally achieved my dream, a wizarding Utopia! The birth rates of wizards sky-rocketed as soon as most muggles and their filthy toys were cleansed, the chemicals were reacting badly with witches. 3 centuries and I had no heir and the biggest monopoly and the wizarding world and probably fucked both your grandchildren and their grandchildren. Uniting the hallows, consuming life elixir and my botched up horcrux attempt meant that I wasn't going to lose my stamina or youth any time soon. I had a few passing relationships but none that I actually cared to marry.

* * *

My life in the world has continued to a throughout the past few centuries; fucking, drinking, Inventing and ruling the world efficiently for the most prosperous years in the history of mankind.

Eventually; according to Death, who has become my only somewhat friend and companion the sun was going to go boom, and not even I, Lord Voldemort, could do anything about it. Natural order of things, he said. Now you might think that I would bemoan the fact that I was immortal and that I couldn't fall in love or see my family in the afterlife. Why would I do that?

I was immortal, I most likely slept with a billion girls, I had everything I ever wanted, I visited wonderful places. Really being immortal never got boring. I got to fly to outer space even and created the first Naked Inter Galactic Broom Race Charity Event which is one of my proudest achievements so far. So when Death told me that no, I couldn't actually move on. I was elated! But I wasn't going to just stick around Death until it's time for other planets and the entire universe to end.

No, I was far greater than that.

I was going to travel through dimensions.

With a combination of runes, arithmancy and space-time physics and ritual that most likely absorbed the remaining magical energy in the planet. I succeeded.

Unfortunately, I couldn't transfer my entire immortal body through the ritual; only my soul, knowledge and memories.

So with a bit of help from Death in pinpointing my soul so it doesn't end up in a commoner's body or god forbid, a woman's body, I managed to transport my soul to a ,hopefully , a good body.

* * *

 _ **283 AC, Starfall, Dorne**_

I blearily opened my eyes and tried to concentrate on my surroundings, I was lying on a rather uncomfortable crib and I could hear voices in the distant. Must be my parents! I was excited and a tad nervous, I was an orphan dark lord in my first life and a light paragon leader in my second life, also an orphan. I had never experienced the feeling of parents caring for me and wondered how I should communicate with them. Would they be obstacles and constantly coddling me, an 800 years old former dark lord?

As I looked to my right I could see my mother for the first time, I instinctively knew she was my mother. She was tall, almost 5'7". Her long dark hair was framing her pale skin, tumbling around her shoulders, with piercing violet eyes that were glistering with unshed tears she suddenly looked out of the window and let out a wail of agony and promptly threw herself from the tower..

That was odd…

I truly didn't care about having parents but this was getting ridiculous, I had the pleasure of being born into three different bodies and each time my mother died in infancy. I held no hope that my father in this world was still alive. It probably had something to do with some morbid cosmic joke between the Gods.

I was quickly cradled by a pair of rough hands and had a look at the grimmest looking person I've ever seen in my entire life, and I had a long life.

He whispered softly, "Hello, little Brandon. I am your uncle Ned."

Wonderful.

From what I could skim off the filthy muggle who was dressed up ridiculously, my father is also called Brandon Stark – Muggles were truly creative , The heir to Winterfell, and future Lord Paramount of the North. Or rather was called, turns out he was killed by the "Mad King" who had him bound with a leather cord around his neck and a longsword just out of reach, causing him to strangle himself trying to get to the sword to save my grandfather who was being cooked alive infront of him. Both were there to retrieve my aunt, who was kidnapped, raped and eventually died due to birth fever a couple of weeks ago.

What a lovely family.

I could see myself fitting in with them.

Now if someone could get me a pair of tits so I can have some milk I would truly be content.

* * *

 _AN:/ Did that in a bit of a rush, hopefully next one will be longer. If anyone is willing to beta this, pm me. I also know this one's a bit of a low quality._

 _Next chapter will be in Winterfell!_

I blatantly copied the name and father of Harry/Lord Voldemort from _gridlocker_ as it was the only way to fit Harry inside the stark household and start fulfilling some of my ideas as soon as possible and not waste 16 years.

Suggestions are welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

_**281 AC, Starfall, Eddard Stark's POV**_

"And you couldn't tell me that Brandon married a Dornish Girl in secret before I agreed to marry Hoster Tully's Daughter," I asked.

Howland Reed, Brandon's former squire and my friend answered," Brandon made me swear not to tell a soul before he left for King's Landing."

"He looks a lot like Brandon, except for his eyes, must be his mother's." I said while cooing over Brandon.

Howland hummed noncommittally.

"It's weird though," As I looked questioningly, he elaborated,"Ashara, jumping out of the tower leaving her child."

"Lord Dayne says that for the first few minutes the child was not breathing. Coupled with grief for her lost brother and husband, she must have thought she lost everything."

"Well, at least you got what you wanted. Little Brandon here gets to be the Warden of the North while you get cozy with your lady wife in a castle or keep of your choosing."

"Yes, my wife who was offered to me on the concept of being a lord paramount." I grumbled.

"Expecting trouble from Hoster Tully?" Howland asked out of curiosity.

I sighed," He's going to through a fit for sure. Our marriage was on the assumption that his grandchildren would be Lords Paramount of the North and the Vale one day."

"I never liked the opportunistic son of a bitch anyway, refusing to join us in the rebellion unless he sells his daughters to two Lords of the Great Houses," Growled Howland.

"Well what do you expect? The Riverlands have been the Westerosi playground since the Age of Heroes, almost every war between the Great Houses has occurred on his lands. It seems somewhat logical to bind the North and the Eastern Houses to his family," I sighed.

"And I'm sure it has nothing to do with Lady Catelyn's tits," Said Howland amusedly.

"What, I-I Yes.. But—" –I Spluttered as I could feel my face glowing, discussing my Lady Wife, rather glorious, tits brought back pleasant memories- "Shut up, Howland"

"He's going to raise Hell, you know," Said Howland nodding at the other bundle snuggled firmly in furs and strapped to a wet nurse chest.

"I know"

"Not even Brandon, the Wild Wolf, had a bastard."

"I know!"

"So when the honorable Ned Stark gets a bastard who's only 2 months younger than your trueborn son, People are definitely going to ask questions"

"I know, Reed. I know damn it!"

Howland trotted off in front of us while laughing loudly.

 _ **281 AC, King's Landing**_

We've been traveling for almost two weeks now, carefully avoiding any angry Dornishmen. Thinking about Dorne made me angry almost immediately. Although I knew that the biggest threat to our already fragile peace was the Targaryen children. I could never fathom my best friend justifying murder of children so brutally like that. But a missive from Jon Arryn, ordered us to pass through King's landing before we head back to Winterfell, as to mend our differences and deliver the grave news personally.

King's landing still smelled like shit, blood and dead people. While the city has somewhat began to heal from the sacking caused by the Lannisters. It's effect was still obvious.

As I started walking into the Red keep carrying two bundles on my strapped to my shoulders. I couldn't help but notice that little Brandon looked almost inquisitively to his surroundings. I wasn't the best person with children but I figured that parents speak to children from an early age to encourage speaking or something like that.

"This is the Red Keep, little Brandon, The castle which the King rules from."

As his eyes were following wherever I was pointing and seemingly looked attentive, I knew I scored a point in parenting.

"This is the throne room," I said while we walked through the huge wooden door, "Err.. Your father and grandfather were killed here," I said somewhat awkwardly.

I could've sworn by the Old Gods, New Gods, the Drowned God and even the Summer Islands' Sixteen tits God that he raised his eyebrow incredulously and looked at me disappointedly. I couldn't actually think of anything else to tell him while we walked inside the Throne Room.

"Ned," Boomed Robert.

Eddard had very carefully practiced not jumping when Robert boisterously called him, little Jon Snow unfortunately, had no such training and woke up wailing.

"Robert," I hissed while softly cooing and cradling Jon, "lower your gods damned voice."

As Robert continued to look amusedly at the sight of Eddard Stark acting like a young mother, Jon Arryn interjected quietly, "Perhaps we should convene to another place and leave the _children_ you somewhat brought back with a wet nurse."

I handled the two babes to the wet nurse as softly as I could manage and followed Robert and my foster father to a room right behind the throne room.

"Perhaps you could enlighten us on what you found in the Tower of Joy and the identity of the two babes," Said Jon as soon as we sat down.

The mood quickly sobered.

I gulped and answered, "We arrived at the Tower of Joy and found the remaining members of the Kingsguard, Lord Commander Gerold Hightower, Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Oswell Whent, we managed to kill them but not before they killed 5 of us. By the time I reached the tower, Lyanna was suffering from the fever and without a proper Maester she died quickly."

Robert growled while throwing his wine cup across the romm, "Sister-fucking incest ridden dragonspawns."

"And the children," asked Jon.

"One is Brandon Stark, son of my elder brother and Ashara Dayne."

"and the other.." prodded Jon.

"Hesmybastard" I mumbled.

"Come again?"

"He's my bastard, Jon snow."

Robert lost his somber mood and quickly gained an amused look while Jon looked at me pointedly.

"You named your bastard after me?" Jon asked with a genial smile.

"Of course"

"How cute," said Jon sarcastically, "and I suppose you are going to be Brandon's regent in Winterfell until he reaches his majority?"

"I don't know yet, I was hoping that Benjen could step in and fill that role for him. While I will stay with them for 3 years or so and move to Moat Cailin," I answered.

"Hoster is going to be pissed."

"Fuck Hoster Tully and fuck the Riverlands, if he has a problem tell him to go the goddamn king," said Robert.

"Thank you, Robert" I said gratefully," I was worried of how he would react."

"Serves the god damned bastard right, I'm still pissed that he refused to join us before he sold his daughters," grumbled Robert.

"Very well then, we will provide you with a ship that will take you to White Harbor. Right now, I have some duties to finish and Ned has to go breastfeed the children," Jon said getting up.

Robert broke out laughing while I sputtered embarrassedly.

I wasn't looking forward for the rest of my stay here.

 _ **Kingsroad, 281 AC, Brandon's POV**_

My visit to the Red Keep along with my uncle was brief, full of naps, boobs and regularly shitting myself just to fuck with the wet nurse.

Although I probably should've paid more attention to the so-called Capital of the continent of Westeros, I couldn't bring myself to focus on such a minor matter. I had an epiphany while I was being walked through the throne room. Once again I couldn't actually anagram my name into a somewhat awesome new name. I truly couldn't expect a lot, My first life was lucky as fuck – except you know, my father abandoning me, living in an orphanage, being bullied as a child – but my name, although a mudblood name, was convenient as fuck. So while the truly christened Brandon Stark wasn't going to get called Tankards Born anytime soon, I still was going to get called Lord Stark. You don't get everything in life.

I already found a companion who apparently was called Jon Snow, A bastard. I couldn't actually believe they still gave a shit about whether your parents are married or not. But blaming a child because his father couldn't keep his cock in his pants was just sick; Which fit my plans exactly!

Hundreds of bastards everywhere reviled by nobles and religion and I was going to collect each and every one of them in my personal guard. Perhaps I should call them death eaters again? Or name them the Order of the Phoenix and make them wear death eater robes and masks as a fuck you to Dumbledore's memory? It is still too early to decide.

I couldn't wait to actually reach this Winterfell though, this moronic dunderhead that is my uncle is carrying me in a completely unacceptable way. I can barely hold myself from _crucio'_ ing him every time he holds me at a weird angle. I mean would it kill him if he just fucking left me with the wet nurse? I was an ex-dark lord for fuck's sake and this was a new type of evil.

 _ **Winterfell, 281 AC, Benjen's POV**_

After Brandon's death, Lya's kidnapping and Ned's march to war while I remained the Stark of Winterfell. I remained antsy and checking ravens every dawn expecting I would see a raven carrying the rest of my sibling's death. I couldn't help but think all of this could've been avoided. If I only followed Lya into the godswood the day she was kidnapped, perhaps I would've managed to save her, perhaps I would've been killed while she was taken. I could've done something at least. But staying here while the entire north is rebelling in the south is truly mind wrecking. There was nothing else that I could busy myself with; the North was almost completely empty.

So when the raven announcing the rebels victory and the sacking of King Landing I couldn't help but feel elated. Ned's going to bring back Lya and I could take the black. I really had nothing to offer to the North anyway. Perhaps I can serve on the wall to do something useful in my life once.

That's also why I've been staring at the letter that just arrived uncomprehending what was written for the past few minutes _. It was only 4 sentences._

 _Lyanna's dead. Brandon had an heir with Ashara Dayne. I have a bastard. You'll be regent for Brandon's son._

Typical Ned.

I mean he was always known as the quiet wolf but this is taking it a bit too far. Would it hurt him to elaborate a bit? Why couldn't he be regent for Brandon's son? That was so like Ned to run away from the responsibilities of the Warden of the North as soon as he's offered an opening.

I could've deluded myself and promise to the old gods that I would make Brandon's son the best Lord the North ever had, but I would be lying.

I had absolutely _no idea_ how to rule the North. I was the third son!

I glanced towards old Maester Luwin and Jory. They have been mostly running Winterfell in my stead. And I heard a new whorehouse opened just outside Wintertown.

"Yes, this could work" I thought while a grin started to make its way on my face.

 _ **Winterfell, 281 AC, Ned's POV**_

I took a deep breath as soon as I passed Winterfell's gates, as to reacquaint myself with the smell of the North. Benjen looked, well, as Stark as he could I guess. If you can call this ridiculous face a Stark face. Didn't anyone teach Ben the difference between a grim face and a constipated face? Jon, my bastard, managed to pull the Stark look at 1 year old way better than he could.

Ah, there was my wife. She looked awkwardly out of place but managed to stay imperiously hot at the same time. I took the babes from the wet nurse to present them to my family, I could see her emotions clearly on her face, fluctuating between surprise, confusion, comprehension, shame. Her face then paled rapidly and she somehow managed to smile while her eyes should the cold rage she really felt.

I quickly ran to introduce the children, she must have thought they were both mine. I imagine that was what she would feel if I returned with two bastards. I had to salvage the situation

"This is Brandon Stark, Heir to Winterfell, son of Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne." I said while presenting the first bundle.

She let an almost audible sigh of relief, and asked, "Who's the other one?"

"Oh that's my _only_ bastard Jon, Jon Snow," I answered proudly. Brandon always thought that he was the only Stark that was a ladies man. I obviously had the same instinct and could understand women almost better than Brandon ever did.

So when the same look of rage returned, accompanied by Benjen, Jory and even old Maester Luwin sniggering, you must realize I had no idea why. I turned around to greet the others leaving the wife alone to figure out her problems. Perhaps she was pissed that she won't be the Lady of the North. Well, the little southern lady should suck it up. I was never raised or fit to be the Warden of the North. I was raised in the South for god's sake.

Just when I was greeting the rest, she said with a sweet voice hiding a dark undertone, "Don't you want to meet your son, Robb, my lord husband?" with an almost audible grinding of her teeth.

I stumbled and almost dropped the two bundles to the ground when I realized my folly and Ben had to catch them, while I smiled weakly.

The grinding of her teeth never stopped though, and I could feel a foreboding sense that I was going to sleep on the floor tonight.

I should've stayed with Robb when he offered it.

 _ **281 AC, Riverrun, Hoster Tully**_

Being Lord Paramount of the Riverlands was never easy, Surrounded by opportunistic houses that are just waiting for a fall of grace for my house to jump in my place as Lord Parmaount was stressing. The Mallister's, were one of the most stable, wealthy houses in the Riverlands. The blasted Frey's were also a constant annoyance with them controlling the passage between the Southern Kingdoms and the North. Every move has to be calculated and done with precision. Every action was a risk. The previous rebellion, while I agreed with it wholeheartedly, was a huge risk. The Frey's or the Mallister's could have easily ignored me and let me run off to war on my own. And should the rebellion fail, they would automatically be the new Lord Parmaount. Infact, I think that was exactly why Walder Frey arrived so late.

So when the war arrived, it was an opportunity. Sure, it was for a noble cause and ever since the dragons died the clock has been ticking for the Targ's dynasty. But it was still an opportunity. I've already wanted to bind my house to the North in the form of a betrothal between Catelyn and Brandon Stark, but unfortunately we couldn't formalize anything before he died in King's Landing along with his father. So when Jon Arryn, Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon arrived at Riverrun and asked me to call my banners in support to their cause, I knew I held all the cards and used them like any Lord would. To some, selling off their daughters may look cruel. But I seriously loved my daughters and there was not a better marriage than to a lord paramount out there, except perhaps a royal marriage.

The Riverlands have always suffered throughout the wars; with no natural defenses and being rather flat and fertile. It was a playground for all the kingdoms' armies. Truly, the Riverlands has suffered way too many wars that it would damage any Lord Parmount's psyche. So I grabbed the chance as soon as I saw it. I initially wanted to marry my Lysa to Lannister's son, but I was rebuffed. The other alternative was securing my northern and eastern borders from any conflict. So marrying my Lysa and Catelyn to Arryn and Stark respectively in exchange for the Riverlands fertile ground and levies sounded like a great trade-off.

Of course everything had to go pear shaped for the fucking Riverlands.

The resurgence of Brandon Stark's hidden son from Lady Ashara Dayne, a great house in Dorne, proved to be a thorn to his plans. His grandchildren were meant to rule the 3 kingdoms not some Dornish bastard, and knowing Jon Arryn's unfortunate history with wives and heirs, I wasn't really placing much hope in Lysa. Paired with my injury at the Trident which still gave me trouble breathing and Brynden constantly ignoring my commands and refusing to marry made me look like a blasted pelutant child who kept yelling and got nothing in return infront of my bannermen.

I could've easily announced the boy a bastard and had no claim to Winterfell except that blasted Ned Stark who announced that his nephew was the Heir for Winterfell. Nobody even put a claim; I doubt the Daynes would've bothered themselves with the far North. But the honorable Ned Stark announced as soon as Robert Baratheon took the Iron throne that he has a nephew in Dorne who would be the future Lord Parmaount and just like that my plans went down the drain.

Still, the king could've easily announced that the boy was a bastard and Ned would be the Warden of the North, but no.

Robert knew his friend never wanted to be Lord of Winterfell. Eddard Stark wanted a simple keep or castle to rule, not an entire kingdom. That and Robert Baratheon still held a grudge because he wouldn't give them his levies and supplies before the wedding, effectively shackling his best friend.

I'll have to wait to see what the future holds. Perhaps try to bring a Lannister bride to Brynden, or perhaps my youngest Edmure. Bah, who am I kidding. It was quickly evident that Edmure was a disappointment who spent all his time whoring and drinking with those bastard friends of his and he was as likely to marry as Brynden was. Not at all.

For the first time since I took my father's seat at Riverrun, I could truly sense that the Tully's was truly falling.

 _ **281 AC, Winterfell, Brandon's POV**_

I slowly regained my eyesight and could see clearly almost midway through our journey to Winterfell. I was almost disappointed by what I saw, this world was basically in the early medieval era and according to the bits and pieces of knowledge I managed to pilfer from my uncle, it has remained in stagnation for almost 8000 years, With no notable breakthroughs in science, more importantly, no other wizards. I didn't think Wizards would need to hide from the filthy muggles when they didn't have gun powder or cannons, but I should still check so to not face any surprises.

I almost felt a familiarity when we passed the Neck, into the North. Almost like.. Home? The moment that I knew that I was the future ruler of the North, I decided they would be like my Badgers. Perhaps a change to the ridiculous Direwolf sigil into a dangerous badger is in order. Still too early to tell.

The ride was long, boring and tiresome. Everything you'd expect from this hovel of a world. I was almost tempted to legillimens the fuck out my uncle and just apparate us to Winterfell but sadly, my infant mind has not yet developed to allow me to copy his knowledge, that and showing magic so early was a big no no. While my Slytherin instincts screamed inside of me to proclaim myself a god amongst men and systematically conquer the world single-handedly. My more sneaky Hufflepuff side was urging caution and to build the North into a legacy that fit my dreams, using magic subtly and improving the otherwise limitations using basic science. Basic enough to make my kingdom rise, not too advanced so as to not re-do the complete failure that was muggles back in my world.

You have to understand by the time I got out of school, Hufflepuff alumnus were leading the world, already placed in strategically locations in the magical community. I had my doubts that it was a conspiracy far older than any of us, and that Huffelpuffs were slowly building an empire that overlooked them in the beginning until their Jesus, Me, could come to them and turn the tables.

It was too early to start doing anything unfortunately; I had to work through a regent. Maybe in 3 or 4 years when I could walk and of a respectable size I could take over personally. For now, I was going to have to trust ( _read; influence the mind and submit to my will)_ my uncle Benjen to lay the foundations. I had no time to waste.

Entering Winterfell was a rather disappointing and intriguing experience. I could feel magic somewhat similar to the magic of Hogwarts in its walls. The aesthetics however, were dreadful. The dark, snow-riddled walls, ivy-encrusted stone towers added a sense of danger somehow. It was a mixture between English and Scottish castles. Two staggering stone walls fortifying the castle and a moat placed between. The castle looked like it stood for thousands of years, which it probably did. The castle spanned several acres with a complex of courtyards and small open spaces. The inner ward contained an older open space which from the looks of it, where archery practice takes place. A large broken tower stands next to the main castle. The walls were made of granite, covered with the grey stark banners. The doors were made of oak and iron and somehow managed to look grey as well. The first keep was a strategic base of operations , I could see it was no longer in use, with a couple of towers with mundane uses. All in all, it looked like a hovel. Sure an ominous and scary hovel. But I could see that it needed some serious work. I was going to completely re-design it. With money and concrete I could finish it in almost 5 years.

On our journey to the North, I quickly decided that on top of my plans would be building a proper road network. It would greatly help trade and transport and more importantly, not cause me tremendous back ache.

While the North was tremendously huge, full of resources and by extending my awareness and tapping into Earth's natural magic, full of gold, silver and a ridiculous amount of iron ore. I would have to use my magic to pull it up to the ground a bit to ease the mining process. I should also figure out how to populate the Northern territory a bit more. But that would be easily done as soon as we have jobs and resources to fill the land a bit.

Reaching out with my magic outwards I could feel a seriously large vault, with a blood-ward on the door. From what I could determine, the vault hasn't been touched in almost 4000 years. I will have to check it out as soon as I'm able. It might prove to be rewarding.

Everything can be addressed as soon as I just fucking regain complete control over my movements and stop shitting myself.

All hail Lord Star-Voldemort.

God, Not again.

AN:/ 2 Chapters in two days. Please review and suggest what to name the Elite fighting force Brandon? Harry? Voldemort? Is going to start. Death eaters sounds so unimaginative. Winter knights also sounds uncreative. To what extent should the Northern military power increase and still sound believable? SUGGEST!

AN2:/ Should I include a healthy relationship between Brandon and someone? I already have something in mind but I would appreciate other ideas.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Winterfell, Brandon's POV**_

I have successfully managed to enhance my growth using magic, an amazing achievement I know. At the age of 2 years old I was already the size of a 4 year old child with total control over my movement. I was elated! While I would miss the wide variety of tits that I used to drink from –seriously, uncle Benjen brought me 20 different wet nurses, all inspected personally. My adventures around Winterfell have proved fruitful. The castle seemed to have its own magic, which eased the process of implementing wards. I had intent-based wards, lighting wards – to strike any sieging army, Foe-or-friend, a ridiculous amount of spying wards, anti-theft and loyalty enforcing wards. I wasn't taking any chances with trust and loyalty of the residents of Winterfell and Wintertown. Personal freedom is great and everything but trust and loyalty are a fickle thing, and these wolves were no badgers.

The vault that was located under the crypts was unfortunately blocked by the floor of the crypt, So naturally I demolished the floor with a flick of my hand and re-assembled it with a mixture of transfiguration and charms so It would open theatrically and the floor would split and re-arrange itself into stairs when a stark spills blood on the statue of Bran the Builder Crypt.

Inside, I found a veritable wealth of knowledge and gold. My initial count of the gold inside is almost 4 million dragons, not counting the gems, weapons and artifacts. The vault entrance started beneath the crypts and was expanded until it covered the entirety of Winterfell's underground. Almost 2/5 of the vault was full of books, mostly were worthless, but some had the blueprints of Winterfell and the Wall which greatly assisted me in uncovering other magic protected rooms and passages in the castle. I also found a ridiculous amount of Valyrian steel weapons, which greatly reminded me of Damascus steel back on Earth, the method was lost even back on Earth but I was a fucking wizard for fuck's sake and I had a pretty good relationship with Death, thus no knowledge was lost to me. All hail Lord Stark.

I managed to relocate around 50 thousand dragons into a hidden room in Winterfell, claimed to have discovered it, and quickly influenced my uncle to start expanding Winterfell, fix the first keep and the broken tower and lay stones the ground instead of the filthy mud in the courtyard and expand the surrounding farms fivefold. While I could've just revolutionized farming, ship-making and military of the North, I knew nobody would take a 4 year old who, to their knowledge, never read a book before or started his formal education with the Maester. And I sure as hell wasn't going to let my uncle Benjen get all the praise for his improvements of the North. No, the North survived the past 8,000 years on its own it could wait a few years more while I assert my genius status in this world.

So when the maester found me reading in the library at a ridiculous rate and with a little push from me, he convinced my uncle that being able to learn my letters and numbers alone was an incredible achievement and shouldn't be wasted, that's why I just copied his entire knowledge and began flaunting my knowledge hiding it behind an eidetic memory. The maester was thrilled, it seemed that previous Starks weren't particularly intelligent and he recalled some mentions of scholars of the past being able to memorize a page by simply reading it once. I hit him with yet another compulsion, to convince my uncles that I should consider going to the Citadel for a few years just to forge some chains, not unheard of for sons of Nobles.

Making sure the expansion and improvements to my new base was being taken care of, I packed my bags and decided to accept the Maester's 'advice'. And that's why I was at the age four on the way to the so-called Hub of knowledge in Westeros.

 _ **284 AC, Winterfell**_

"Are you sure about this," Said Ned watching the party of Brandon leaving Winterfell.

Maester Luwin replied, "Lord Stark, I wouldn't dare send Lord Brandon to the Citadel – to _my_ colleagues, without making sure that he is indeed as good as I mentioned to them in the letters, he could rise to become an Archmaester in no time."

"I know Luwin, I know. He's just a bit too young that's all."

"Lord Benjen has sent 30 Stark men to accompany him to the Citadel and no man was ever harmed inside the Citadel," He said frowning.

"Don't worry Ned, I made sure to tell Brandon that he shouldn't take any vows as it's his duty to rule Winterfell," Benjen interrupted playfully.

"It's not like I'm afraid of ruling the North Ben," Ned said sighing, "I wasn't even raised in Winterfell. Most of my life was spent at the Eyrie, I'm not a true Northman."

"It was father's decision to foster you at the Eyrie Ned not yours."

"Aye, it was," Ned said sadly.

"Enough of the depressing talk, how's little Robb and Jon?"

"They already started sparring with wooden sticks and are growing up like brothers instead of trueborn son and a bastard."

"And Lady Catelyn," Ben prodded.

"She's well."

"You know what I'm talking about Ned."

"She… tolerates him, but he's beginning to notice and started being a little bit distant."

"You can leave him here in Wintefell, you know."

"No! He's my flesh and blood."

"And I'm his uncle Ned," Ben said with a raised eyebrow.

"No, just- just drop it Ben. Jon is my responsibility."

"Very well," Ben said walking away.

 _ **284 AC, Oldtown, The Reach.**_

We've been riding hard for almost a month with no problems; a portable notice-me-not ward may have assisted in that. From what I could see in my journey, the northern army was made of levies. That was completely unacceptable. A trained elite force of a thousand could probably run circles around ten thousand levies. The only force with a semblance of training and discipline were Knights, which were not available in the North as followers of the Old Gods. But that was for another day.

It was hard not to appreciate the beauty of Highgarden, even though we never really entered the castle it looked straight out of a Disney movie. Majestic, but not really what I was aiming for with Winterfell. The seat of house Tyrell, the second richest house in monetary value and richest in terms of food had fields of golden roses that stretched as far as the eye can see. The castle itself had almost a glowing look to it, Situated on a broad, symmetrically shaped hill, the castle includes three concentric tiers of white stone walls, which increase in height and thickness as one travels upwards. Between the outermost and middle walls is Highgarden's famous "briar maze", a labyrinth of beautifully maintained hedges. I reigned in the part of me that wanted to unleash carefully controlled fiendfyre into the maze and just burn the surrounding grounds for the fun of it and we passed peacefully.

The Citadel was as a university-like complex of buildings extending along both banks of the River Honeywine in Oldtown, linked by graceful bridges. While it wasn't as beautiful as fancy as universities back in Earth it still retained a Ravenclaw-like presence. The Order of Maesters exhibited a huge deal of influence in all of the seven kingdoms. Every castle, keep or land in Westeros had a maester in it whom acted as 'advisors' and most likely spied on the lords they served. Whether they served their own self-interests or that of Hightower was a mystery that would most definitely be known the moment I make eye-contact with the archmaesters. The ruling council of the citadel was called the Conclave, composed of the aforementioned archmaesters, which elects the new Grand Maester after the passing of the old, decides on policies, and attends to the administration of the Citadel as well as the training of new recruits. The Conclave also appoints the Seneschal, the maester who has to run the bureaucracy of the Citadel on a day-to-day basis, which is considered drudgery.

Much like the professors in a university faculty, each of the archmaesters is the foremost expert in a specific field, such as the archmaester of medicine or the archmaester of economics, etc. The maesters crafted individual links composed of various metals to signify their fields of expertise. There was 16 recognized fields in the Citadel each with a different metal. From what I could ascertain from Maester Luwin's knowledge, the citadel focused on scientific magic and greatly disdained magic. An unfortunate setback but I was determined to pilfer every bit of knowledge inside the walls of the citadel and gain a reputation of extreme intelligence, only then could I answer the unknowingly given slight of the archmaesters.

Upon my entry in the Citadel I was greeted by 16 figures which looked more like a group of beggars with their silly grey robes than Knights of Knowledge. I had a feeling that the entirety of the Conclave didn't usually welcome a recruit individually. Perhaps it was because it was the Warden of the North himself that was attending, or the glowing letter Maester Luwin delivered.

"Lord Stark, truly a pleasure to have you here at Oldtown," Said the old bastard no.3

I nodded politely and we stood in an uncomfortable silence for a moment before he began introducing the other Archmaesters, I didn't actually care about any of them but I was a little creeped out by one Archmaester Marwyn who was probably the re-incarnation of Garrick Ollivander with his creepy stare.

"We will let you rest for now and perhaps we could meet tomorrow to test you and decide which subjects you would study," the man said.

"Little shit probably can't even read," grumbled one of the old men – The archmaester of Mathematics grumbled softly.

I turned my gaze towards him and softly said with a dark tone, "I assure you I can perfectly read, you old fossil."

As the man sputtered in indignation, one of the Archmaesters who has been silent so far interjected, "You have to understand, Lord Stark that this is incredibly irregular. The claims made by Maester Luwin were incredibly outrageous, a 4 years old and could memorize a page from simply reading it once. You have to understand our skepticism."

"Of course, We will simply have to see tomorrow," I said, turning my back on them and walking off towards where my quarters were.

The next day started off with basic questions that were relevant to my basic education back with my personal Maester, the Archmaesters were greatly impressed so I decided to break them even more.

As I finished the test they provided, I was questioned by each of the Archmaesters for almost 30 minutes each. My answers were perfect and contained references to books including the page and line number of each answer. By the time I was showing them some Greek and medieval Mathematics and Geometry knowledge, namely Brandon's theory (formerly Pythagoras),the medieval abacus, showed them invention of my personal clock which divided the day into 24 hours, an hour into 60 minutes and a minute into 60 seconds they were almost drooling and gazing hungrily at me.

They promised to send a letter to the Grandmaester and invite him personally back to the Citadel to witness my inventions and theories. They were elated by my graphs and were about a second from kicking the former Arithmetic Archmaester and instating me in his stead. Of course they were disappointed to learn that as soon as I finish forging my chains, which I would most likely do in a couple of months, I would leave back to the North. I managed to placate them and began negotiating on establishing another base to the order in the North funded by me as soon as possible to 'spread the light of the order further in the seven kingdoms'.

The really interesting part of my questioning by the Archmaester however was Archmaester Marwyn, commonly called Marwyn the mage.

"Come in, Lord Stark," intoned the archmaester from behind the door.

As soon as I entered I was blinded by the light of 16 bright blue flames of obsidian glass.

Marwyn snapped from his seat and exclaimed,"For 30 Years, I have been the Archmaester of Magic in the citadel and no one could even make one of them light."

As I stood uncomfortably and started contemplating whether to obliviate him or not, he continued, "You just enter my room and every one of them burst to light."

"Indeed," I murmured softly, while inwardly panicking I couldn't use any magic inside the goddamned room for some reason, I could see a vase 3 feet away from me. It would take me 5, maybe 7 seconds to take it and crash it over his head. He was an old man he would probably die from the impact.

As I was just about to reach for the vase, he said, "Come, come Brandon –May I call you Brandon? We have much to discuss. Oh this is extremely exciting," And proceeded to drag me behind a hidden door towards some sort of a library with old books.

"The archmaesters must not know!" He said and I was taken aback by the seriousness in the man's statement and contemplated whether to use the usual Malfoy approach proven to work throughout countless generation of Malfoys which was their unofficial motto as well, 'Deny,Deny,Deny.' In the end I decided to indulge my curious side and asked, "Why shouldn't they exactly..?

"You may have heard of the Citadel's _disdain_ for magic and the Higher Mysteries. However, it is way bigger than that. Every archmaester and most Maesters distrust Magic strongly ever since our rivalry with the Alchemist's Guild. It has turned however to an irrational fear to destroy anything that is magical and turn the world into what fits their vision of right," He said, each world dripping with venom.

"I suspect the dance of the dragons and even the death of the Targeryan Dragons was the machinations of the citadel," he continued, "So you must understand the severity of the situation and the need for secrecy."

"Situation?" I asked amused.

"Why, your knowledge boy! I suspect you're going to teach me a great deal than I'll ever can," He exclaimed.

"You and I both know you're not just a 4 year old. So who are you really?" He said

So in a fit of recklessness, I told him everything. Well almost everything. I, of course, excluded the parts of stealing knowledge and just painted myself as an extremely powerful and talented wizard, a not inaccurate image, who managed to beat death and retain his knowledge and memories while being rebirthed. I also showed him some basic charms and transfiguration which had the man salivating.

"Incredible," He said, eyes wide. "I wish I had the same gift as you," He said wistfully.

"Who says you can't?" I murmured to myself.

His head snapped towards me and he almost looked like Bellatrix on a raid. Ahh, regardless of my second life and peaceful reign, I still missed my noble Death Eaters sometimes. "Perhaps Marwyn can become my new Bella." I thought to myself.

"There is a potion and a spell," I said "Combined you might be able to possess some semblance of magic and could cast some spells successfully."

"There's a catch though," I interrupted him.

"Anything, to be able to use magic is my greatest dream."

"You have to understand that I have to give you a part of my magic, I can't just give you a piece of my magic just like that."

"I will swear a loyalty oath!" He exclaimed.

"I have an even better idea," I said smiling genially, "I'll mark as one of my followers"

His face suddenly closed up and he said,"will I still retain my free will?"

"Of course," I lied smoothly, waving my hand dismissively, "My real reason however was for you to act as an emissary of sorts and the mark is only to allow you to mark and find other recruits with an affinity of magic."

He sat for a long time before nodding and bowing. I interrupted, "Just roll your sleeve and give me your arm."

"Morsmorde." I murmured my finger against his arm.

I watched as a Cobra encircled around a ferocious Direwolf burned on his arm. That was… curious, but not unwelcome.

"Incredible," He said bouncing in his seat. "So when do you start me teaching me the magic you did?"

"No need," I said, establishing eye connection and implanting knowledge of apparating, using the dark mark to communicate and brand other followers, basic charms and necessary wards and some charms with a tiny bit of transfiguration.

His head reared back in shock from the flood of knowledge that invaded his mind and he blinked repeatedly to regain his bearings and whispered, "Magnificent."

As I left him to his playing, mainly appertain around the room and transifiguring quills and parchments and laughing loudly, I hit the room with a silencing ward and proceeded to check the Glass Candles. From what I could find out they were basic scrying instruments. There was some myths of the use of Obsidian Candles back in my world to scry and communicate but they were utterly unreliable and better methods were developed. I quickly went back to my room, leaving my first follower and filled with melancholy over my Death Eaters.

 _ **The forging of chains.**_

I wasted almost another year at the Citadel before deciding that I was most likely going to destroy the blasted building. The archmaesters brought shadowbinders from Asshai, Warlocks from Qarth and used poison slowly over the years at the Dragonpit to make sure the dragons slowly died out. I couldn't however destroy it before the other Northern Citadel, which was definitely going to be renamed, was finished and the books copied. I copied every book the Citadel had periodically and portkeyed them back to the vault at Winterfell.

A meeting of the Conclave occurred during my stay in the Citadel and I got to meet the Grandmaester Pycelle. Suffice to say I wasn't impressed. The man praised my intelligence and wholeheartedly supported the Northern Citadel and it was agreed that we would split the cost 40/60 to be finished as soon as possible. By the time I was done, I had every chain that could possibly be forged in the Citadel. The Conclave of course, begged me repeatedly to stay at the Citadel and assured me that I would most definitely become an Archmaester not a simple maester who served different Lords. Yet, it was futile. I was born to rule, and I wasn't going to be chained by ridiculous vows. I was hounded by young maesters all the time, even gave a few lectures and introduced my theories. Brandon's theory in particular was being documented in books of Geometry and slowly introduced to masons and mathematicians all over the world.

Archmaester Bell- err.. Marwyn however, managed to find 2 acolytes who were suitable candidates and were quickly branded and a part of my followers and would scout Westeros and hopefully Essos in search for other followers.

So with my chains forged, my reputation as a genius whispered in the corridors of the citadel and between Lords, I packed and rode back for the North.


	5. Chapter 5

_**285 AC, Winterfell.**_

I returned to Winterfell and was pleasantly surprised that the improvements I had ordered were already implemented and the farmlands expanded. I had to deal with another problem that would quit possibly affect all my plans.

The North was almost half the size of Westeros. Almost 80% of the available lands were abandoned with no population to sustain it. With a population of a measly 50,000 in a huge land, it wasn't surprising. I had to draw people into the North somehow. My answer to that was a new huge building built right next to Winterfell that would, in the future, be connected to my new Citadel. The Research Facility was built with my new 'invention' concrete, coupled with beams made of Damascus steel that I taught to the smiths. The whole facility was built in no time. A library rivaling the size of the citadel was placed inside. I 'invited' learned people who couldn't forge their chains, bound them using secrecy spells coupled with specific knowledge implanted in their minds and their loyalty was absolute. However, that was all for show. I couldn't very well introduce 50 inventions in a month and pass it off as intelligence. So with my concrete made, research facility finished, a census that was completely inaccurate and proper mapping used by ward stones placed all around the North, We began the North's _(read; Lord Brandon's)_ revolution.

The wards provided us with accurate information and an interactive map of the entirety of the North. Exactly 60,000 able-bodied persons lived in the North. While I was in fact the highest authority in the North, I couldn't just introduce outlandish techniques and order them all to implement them with the threat of Winter. So in a fit of intelligence, and the not so subtle reminder of my first follower, I apparated back to Winterfell, charmed the farmlands with ridiculously basic Herbology spells, mainly spells that softened the brittle soil of the North. I sent a raven to uncle Benjen with specific instructions; the smiths were to make steel plows with blueprints I provided, pipes made of clay were to be installed to help draining the fields around Winterfell, the land would be divided into 3 fields; 2 fields were sown with crops using seed drills, also provided in blue prints, while the last one had turnips grown.

By the time I had returned, they had already harvested land and lo and behold, by the new techniques Lord Stark implemented, we had almost 3 times the output compared to the old ways. Farmers were praising me and I began preparing for the harvest feast.

It took almost 2 months for all the Lords to arrive, I used those two months, generally looking for unclaimed cattle all around westeros and slowly trickling it into the North, domesticating them and housing them in proper houses.

The feast was not just any feast; it was also time for the lords to renew their vows of fealty to me.

After taking their oaths of fealty which really was a formality, I asked them to settle down because I had some news to announce.

"Most of you know that I have spent the last year forging chains in the Citadel," I intoned coldly.

"And that is relevant to the harvest feast in what way exactly my lord?" whispered Roose Bolton.

I still have not decided what Bolton's fate was going to be. The Boltons have been rebelling against Stark Lords since the building of the Wall. On the other hand, Roose greatly reminded me of Lucius and could prove to be a valuable asset, a thought for another time.

"By implementing new methods and techniques, we have managed to increase the production rate of Wintertown almost three-fold," I continued "Should each Lord implement those methods to his lands, the North would become entirely self-sufficient and we wouldn't have to rely on those fucken southerners ."

I was met with a lot of skeptic look and elaborated, "Please compare the numbers of what a normal sized farmland equal to those surrounding Wintertown produce and ours this year."

While the lords almost had their eyes boggling out of their sockets one annoying mass of flesh asked, "If the Citadel did know about this yes why wouldn't they tell the other lords?"

I could see others murmuring their ascent as Uncle Benjen interjected, "Who ever said the Citadel made those techniques?"

Greatjon Umber roared, "What, do you expect us to believe you made those, Benjen?"

"No, I did," I interrupted.

"Ha! I did, he says! You're like what, 7-8 name-days boy?"

"One, my name is Lord Stark, Warden of the North and you will address me as such you imbecile," I answered coldly, I had enough of that bullshit, I relished his cowering. "Two, when the Warden of the North orders, his vassals does his bidding, and just because the Umbers can't read or count more than 10 doesn't mean the others vassal are dunderheads as well."

Silence reigned in the Hall, until Greatjon suddenly boomed laughing, "Aye, you're a real wolf, boy."

I wanted to crucio the arrogant muggle for calling me boy again but as the tension diffused I decided against it.

"Most of the methods are easily done including the clay pots my lord, but how would you want us to make those seed drills and steel plows, my lord?" asked Bolton.

I smiled charmingly, "House Stark will provide steel plows and seed drills to its entire vassals lord Bolton. If, and I'm sure it will, provide the aforementioned results, each lord will simply have to pay 20% of the extra yielded harvest for 15 years, excluding winters."

Bolton bowed his head in acceptance and soon murmurs broke out, all the lords chatting excitedly. The North's biggest problem was its brittle lands and low harvest yield which made us buy crops from the Reach and the Riverlands. Should this project prove successful, we could have even enough harvest to sell to other Kingdoms. What they didn't know is that I spent the last month casting fertilizing charms and nutrients all over the North, a ridiculous effort that took up most of my time, but extremely rewarding.

But still, even with the all my improvements, we could perhaps farm 35-40% of the free land in and that's if every smallfolk took up farming.

My breeding facility has also advanced greatly, we managed to domesticate about every animal we captured. We now had 3000 sheep, 2500 goats, a 1000 aurochs and an average of 2000 for other less popular domesticated animals. The problem that they were all located in a 100 m2 barn expanded to accommodate them. Only those who were my direct agents were allowed inside for the breeding, I had to figure out how am I going to transport them without looking like an idiot. So, ridiculously large cowsheds, barns, stables and sheds were built right east of Winterfell, besides the White knife to accommodate our animals, Irrigation Canals were branched out of the fork regulary starting on both branches extending towards winterfell. I had placed notice-me-not charms on the Barn and decided to place illusion so it would seem that the animals were collected all around the North. It was easy to do. But the real transportation had to occur at night.

I had realized by now that it would take several years and a ridiculously large labor force to achieve the amount of canals I needed. While most people would've just gone on with it, I wasn't most people. I placed charms on underground brittle rocks all over the North, warding the area around the focus of the focus so not to cause damage to the surrounding castles of the North. Voila! A chain of strong earthquakes all hitting key points did almost all the work needed for the canals, splitting the earth. A series of canals all over the North seemingly erupted overnight. While I would've loved to take credit for them, we had to pass them off as an "act of the Old Gods". The smallest canal was almost 2 feet deep, while the almost finished Grand Canal, which passed through the Cape of Eagles right infront Moat Cailin – offering another strategically advantage for the North, and connecting Ironman's bay to The Bite, was almost 20 meter deep and 100 meter wide at its center, while noticeably thinner at the entrance and exit of the canal. That is as soon as I dispatch more filthy muggles to finish digging the flimsy part remaining.

Another noticeably happy development was the, unfortunate, destruction of the Twins, their crossing and their entire Argus Filch-like family. I did say I wouldn't damage the castles of the North, and Filch was a sworn enemy of the Noble House of Hufflepuff. Back at Hogwarts, he died before the badgers could exact their revenge. So I had almost a 100 Filch look-alikes and a grudge. I had to order four ferries built in place of the Twins so as to not block traffic, it was only a temporary solution, I still had to improve and fix the Kingsroad. While I would probably lay the whole thing with a combination of dirt, gravel and bricks, I had to limit the width of the road so as to not totally fuck up the military blessing that the swamps provided.

Unfortunately now I had to wait. I truly missed the days were you could build a castle with a few twigs and rocks and transfiguration.

 _ **1 Year and a half later, 286 AC, The North**_

Thankfully by now, we had increased population a bit. I had asked Uncle Ned to send a missive to his friend requesting all the jobless beggars and residents of Kings Landing to the North, coupled with a hundred of my First Generation followers throughout the Riverlands, the Vale and the Westerlands sending long-ranged weak compulsions and inviting people to the North stating that every man has a job to do, offering a home for every family and a stable income. Thousands flooded into the North. Almost 35,000 homeless, jobless Westerosi were welcomed into the North. Employed in farmlands throughout the North owned exclusively by Winterfell, the lords technically had no hold over almost 60% of the free areas of the North so I took over them quickly, or dispatched quickly to gold, silver and iron mines all over the mountains of the North or a select few that worked in the Northern Factory right behind Winterfell.

The Northern Factory was my masterpiece for this pre-emptive world. 6-feet high semi circled divided into four parts just half a kilometer away from winterfell. The first, and largest part, was the steel mill. Conjuring a Bessemer Convertor and parts of an Open hearth furnace in the Temple of Knowledge, formerly Research Facility was a masterstroke. As soon as the building was finished, my workers quickly dispatched them both to the Steel Mill and in no time, we were producing enough steel to arm the entirety of Westeros, Essos and even the fish in the Shivering Sea. We ran into a few problems, mainly the people had no way how to work it, but transplanting the knowledge into 50 apprentices and the Steel Mill was soon working so fast that we had to lay our first rail network and move more people to the mountains to increase iron ore production.

I didn't know if the past northern lords were short-sighted or just plain fools. We had almost as much mountains as the Westerlands. All filled to the brim with Precious metals, gems and lots and lots of Iron. Perhaps they never had the numbers to sustain them. I had to conjure and place mines and make them look like they were abandoned so as to not waste precious time. Homes were built in the mountains to accommodate our new arrivals. We faced a bit resistance from the mountain clans. But giving them homes built quickly by concrete and steel and offering them food for their work bent them quickly enough. In almost 6 months, the mines of the North-West were fully working and pouring ores into my – or rather the North's, coffers. The mountains were mapped and divided into equal regions and awarded to each lord. They were responsible for their maintenance and their levies had to work in them, or for the unable to spare, mine did, for a percentage of the ores. Of course Winterfell got almost as much as all the Lords collectively had. But no one could actually complain, I gave them mines for free. The first steel railroad was placed into place from the mountains towards the large new Northern Trading Company that I built. The railroad, carriages and horses were owned by me. Each lord could pay a toll for us to deliver it to him to as far as Winterfell, and when they saw the speed and the amount of weight the horses could drag on rails; they all paid the special fee for the northern lords.

By the end of 288 AC, Every main trade road in the North would be laid with concrete along with Railways and huge carriages; all owned by the North so that tolls could be delivered even for transportation. Carriages and carts in westeros were primeval and unsuited for the roads, even the fabled Kingsroad. By connecting the entire North by rails, we could send supplies for armies almost anywhere. Transport merchandise to almost anywhere near the North and for the fancy lords whose daughters and wives rode in carriages, arrive as fast as they could in fancy carriages with a built-in bed, privy and servants, without being delayed by the slow carriage.

The second part of my facility was the concrete factory. The high influx of people into the North required us to build 4 floor buildings with 12 apartments in each floor to accommodate, every lord with ordering concrete and steel beams to enforce their castles or in some cases, completely renovate them. They were all near identical and each farmland, mine and harbor had a couple of them. The third part was the textile factory; it included cotton spinning mills powered by water and wind, cotton gins, sewing machines, dyes production and thread production; All of them inside of the factory. We began to provide clothes and breaches made of cotton to almost every small folk in the North. You would be surprised what a decent pay, roof over their heads and proper clothes are worth to most small folk. In time, the North would be the main supplier for clothes in the Seven Kingdoms, clothes in large quantities were hard to come by, and most people wore rags. I had to find a way to have a steady supply of silk to provide even more fancy clothes to the North, I had an idea already but it would have to wait. The small folk and nobles alike were entirely devoted to me. And any man with no job in the six kingdoms soon flooded the North; they were always welcomed and provided with a job.

The fourth and last part of the factory was the brewery. It was a booming success! Vodka production was so high that we had to expand to accommodate. The northerners loved it; a drink that can get you drunk _and_ keep you warm? I felt like this mudblood wizard dude from the middle east- Jesus was his name, who transfigured water into wine and the people revered him as the son of god. Beer was also famous among the commoners. Whiskey, gin, ale, cider and even champagne for the really rich was pouring out of the brewery and soon, the wines of the Reach and Dorne would be largely ignored in favor of my new alcoholic drinks for the rich and the poor. Teaching them how to produce sugar from beet was another great advantage to the north, as sugar canes were hard to plant in the North.

The Factory – which was almost 5 times as big as Winterfell, the Temple of Knowledge and a large part of the farmlands and empty land for future expansion were surrounded by three layers of walls. The first layer and the tallest at almost 60 feet tall and 10 feet thick, was surrounding the castle itself. The second was surrounding the factory and the large newly built storages, I planned that Winterfell could withstand a siege for 50 years if it had to and still produce meat and grain alike. The third wall was surrounding the farmlands. Each wall was encompassing a huge circular section and ascending upwards towards the hill that housed the castle. Guarded by several metal gates and each of them had a retractable wooden bridge for extra protection. The initial moat was buried and we dug 3 larger moats surrounding each wall for extra protection. The castle of Winterfell was almost impregnable. And unless blackpowder and cannons were created without my knowledge –Unlikely with my plans for the Citadel, it would never fall.

I had to delay renovating the Castle as it would require a ridiculously large amount of money and a huge labor force, and my smallfolk were stretched thin all over the north as it was. Our coffers were almost running dry as we didn't heavily engage in trade as of yet but I guaranteed that before 290 AC, the North would be the new power of Westeros.

The most important part of trade was ships. The north had a large amount of lumber, enough to cover the narrow sea in logs. Harbors were built all over the North. I wasn't going to put my faith in Lord Manderly and his flimsy disgrace of a fleet. Harbors were built at Cape Kraken, Cape of the Eagles, Widows's watch, Sea dragon point and the Bay of Seals. All emulating the fabled docks of Braavos. Our first priority was trading ships, each dock was producing 3 huge ship per week all with reinforced hulls, triangular sails, speed and expansion charms, charms to reduce water resistance and all manned with captains with superior knowledge of the seas. I planned to have almost 500 trading ships of the North with a 150 battle ships that were armed with explosive scorpion bolts that could sink a ship 500 half a mile away. The northern ships were all privately owned by me, flying the Wolf Banner and their superiority allowed them to sail to as far as the Jade Sea and travel all around Westeros in almost third the time, evading pirates and delivering goods for all of Westeros. I was going to make the north the trading hub of the World and control the seas.

 **289 AC**

After 4 years of work, the North has changed almost completely. Each castle in the North could sustain its own lavish food throughout the summer, and through a 3 year-long winter if it had smallfolk in the north had a roof over his head, clothes to help them through the winter and never spent a night hungry. Lords had rebuilt their castles, raised towers and reinforced their walls. We distributed to each lord initial seeds modified to endure the harshest of winters and cattle so they could grow them inside their barns and castles.

Roads made of concrete were connecting every Great House, Harbor and Mines in the north; all of them passing directly through Winterfell and the surrounding areas. Each road had a railroad track built alongside them, run by the Northern Railroad Company exclusively for transportation of cargo, goods made by the Factory and from the mines, valuable stones.

Each lord was getting richer than they ever was and had no reason to worry about any sort of winter, if they ran out the food bank in Winterfell could sell them some. Ships were selling our goods all around the world and bringing back exotic food, wine and silk from as far as Yi Ti; all passing through the North as a major trading stop from Essos to Westeros.

I had also sent a rather large gift to Uncle Ned at Moat Cailin. Large amount of concrete enough so that he can rebuild the 20 towers at his castle and fix anything damaged and 5 Ballistas with explosive scorpio bolts. Never let it be said that I wasn't generous. I, however, was worried about that wife of his, Catelyn Fucking Tully. As soon as they arrived back at Moat Cailin, my uncle had built a Sept for her. A fucking Sept, in the north. I was irritated as hell. The Old Gods were nice and everything and while they weren't as worshiped as the New Gods, they still were way less susceptible to corruption.

The Seven-Who-Are-One are the Father, the Mother, the Maiden, the Smith, the Warrior , the Crone and the Stranger. The knowledge that my old friend death was called the stranger was amusing, which reminded me that I should probably check on him soon. You would expect a primordial being to live lavishly and not need anything, but generally being feared by other gods and men alike he had only me for companionship.

Any way the Faith of the Seven was a religion that had arrived with the Andals, they burned the Weirwood trees which filled the South, declared the Old Gods as false and proclaimed all around Westeros that the Seven Gods were the true gods, Introducing along the way The Seven-Pointed Star and other ridiculous teachings. Bastardy was preached against, since bastards were apparently born of sin when it was just finding someone to blame shit at. As they couldn't blame the Noble lords whom promoted their religion they had to blame someone right? Causing a large faction of the country divided against them, and naming the bastards; Snow for the North, Flowers for the Reach, Sand for Dorne, Rivers for the Riverlands, Stone for the Vale, Hill for the Westerlands, Pyke for the Iron Islands and Waters for the bastards of the Crownlands.

Of course, they couldn't conquer the north and we remained the only kingdom of seven that kept the Old Gods. So when my uncle who was married to a pretty southern lady who viewed the North as savages and most likely only heard of the North from her septa, build THE FIRST FUCKING SEPT inside the north for his wife. Suffice to say, none of the lords were happy and I, in particular, was pissed.

I didn't actually care about religion; I could elevate myself to a God amongst people if I wanted to with my magic. Although I could feel a magical essence inside some of the weirwood trees, I was inclined to believe that the Old Gods were more real than the Seven. But the main problem with them is that a sept was a disaster waiting to blow up in my face. The High Septon, The Most Devout, septons and septas are around the world had a huge amount of political ammunition. They were the voice and the connection to the gods and before the Targaryeans, the Faith Militants were an absolute nightmare. It was too restricting and annoying; too many sins and rules and people to be revered. The Old Gods were much simpler. You want a connection with the gods? Here, have some cool looking trees. What do you have to do? Why would a god want anything from you, you stupid fuck? Just belief is enough. Only slavery was forbidden and that was it. So, I couldn't, in good faith allow a Sept inside the north. It was going down. But since I didn't particularly want the attention of the High Septon at the moment, I again had to pass my actions as an act of god. It would all happen when I would visit Uncle Ned again.

As for Uncle Benjen, I planned to assign him to an expedition and trading fleet to buy grains and seeds from all over the world to plant fruits and flowers in our new greenhouses and sell them all around Westeros, and hopefully to get him away from Winterfell and more importantly, do something productive instead of sitting here. I even caught a stray thought while he was passing by that he was considering taking the Black. I couldn't obviously let my first real family like that; I almost felt love- more like a certain fondness towards all of the Starks. He was rotting away in Winterfell. There were no new whores in the North, he must have fucked all of them, and I must have cast charms to prevent him from catching STDs almost every day. So I told him that he could fill 5 ships full of pleasure-slaves from all around Essos –freed the moment they touch the North and if he would like, he could be the manager of several exotic whore houses all over the North. I felt that he could almost die happily now and then from that ridiculous grin that was on his face. He should hopefully be back in less than 2 years. Superior speed and charms aside, he was going to have to roam the cities of Essos and find anything of value.

"But nephew, wouldn't it be more prudent to buy shipwrights, masons and builders instead of 5 ships full of whores?" He asked hesitantly. I could see that it pained him on the inside to say that, and while he would most assuredly wanted to buy all these whores, he still felt it was his duty as an uncle to advise his '9 year old' nephew.

"No need uncle, just make sure you come in one piece." I replied. The knowledge I had transplanted into the muggles who have become the Masters in each of their different occupation was much more efficient than bringing slaves and having to teach them to build using concrete and steel instead of rocks. The apprentices seemed to learn fast enough, and more free work here meant more levies from the Six Kingdoms that I would have and they won't.

"Okay then." He grinned, and in a grey Stark blur he was across my solar and outside presumably in his room, to pack for his voyage across the Known world.

Finally! No more nagging and constant watching over his 'precious nephew'. I knew the man felt guilty for what has befallen his family but this was ridiculous. Now I could move a little bit more freely.

I started walking toward the Northern Citadel or as it is now called. Archmaesters and maesters in-training alike were allowed free boarding aboard any Northern ship that landed at Oldtown harbor and afforded as mush space as they needed to transport books and alike. Archmaester Marwyn has already moved inside permenantly much to the chagrin of the other Archmaesters whom usually came here twice or thrice every year. They have benefitted immensely from the printing machine and as such, every book the Citadel had in addition to books from all over Essos and as old as the Wall was available in what was now the largest Library in Westeros and probably the world.

I did want to destroy the citadel but I was waiting for an opportunity to present itself. After the chain of earthquakes that occurred in the North it wouldn't be truly surprising that one would happen at the Reach but still, perhaps a better opportunity would occur.

Archmaester Marwyn and my followers whom still remain nameless usually convened in a Fidelius-hidden Building right next to the Temple. So far their numbers were only 100 as it was hard to find someone with the right mental and physical capability to endure a magical core within him without exploding into bits and pieces. Their jobs were mainly maintaining the mines and pulling out the minerals and valuable rocks closer to the surface – a taxing effort which requires them going almost every day, and re-applying charms all over the fields of the North. I will probably use them in guerilla warfare and generally easing up war for me and the North but since we were living in relative peace. They could focus on their day-to-day work.

I was going to check on their progress and assign new duties.

"Greetings my lord," Marwyn said.

"Archmaester," I nodded "and… colleagues"

"We call ourselves the Winter Mages my lord," said one of the acolytes.

"How creative," I said dryly "Are all the acolytes here?"

"Most of them are, my lord. Almost 5 are still at Essos, scouting. We have been able to locate a hidden fortress in Slaver's bay outside of Astapor. It seems the fortress was hidden by the same wards that our own building is using and others we haven't identified yet."

"Keep me updated on any findings and if they face a dead end with the wards, I shall go and personally do them," I said absentmindly while thoughts whirled all over my head and contingency plans for dragon attacks being arranged.

That was surprising. I would most likely be able to unravel most of those wards but it was a long trip from here across the Narrow Sea all the way to Slaver's Bay. It would have to wait. But the confirmation that Valyrians did indeed use magic similar to ours was worrying. Oh, I knew they had magic. How else would you control a Dragon that, according to rumors could fit a carriage inside its mouth. Dragons back on Earth were much much _much_ smaller than that. While I truly was the greatest wizard of all humanity, I couldn't actually ride a dragon and control it. Damage it? Sure. Kill it? With a spell or two. But to ride it and force it to obey your commands like the stories of the dragonlords of Valyria? That was impossible. Dragons were sentient beings of magic in fact. While I could communicate with them, a parselmouth can't order them around and even if it lived its entire life from birth to death inside captivity it couldn't be tamed. While I could use my will to bend other creatures to do my bidding, most of these blasted reptiles were pure untainted magic that cannot be overcame be sheer will. The magic would overwhelm anyone or backfire rather tremendously. I was dying to know how they did it, but it could wait. All of the dragons were dead for a century anyway and the last remaining Targaryeans were reportedly begging all around Essos for food and a roof above their head in exchange for 'generous gifts as soon as they take back the Iron Throne'.

"How goes the temple?"

"Very well indeed, all the Archmaesters have been here and expressed their desire to relocate but are bound by house Hightower influence over the Citadel." It might have something to do with the fact that the Citadel was built on their lands. "But most maesters have already travelled here and we're accommodating 3 times the number of acolytes that are at the citadel."

"Good, Keep me informed," I said, turning away back towards Winterfell to look over the last reports of harvest of the North and trade.

"If I may my lord," he asked hesitantly "A man named Qyburn has arrived."

"So, you need me to hold his hand through the gate?" I asked irritably.

"No-no my lord, it is just… Qyburn was initially studying at the Citadel but was stripped of his chain by the Archmaesters for engaging in some unethical human experimentation…"

I raised my eyebrow waiting for him to elaborate.

"He had been vivisecting men in his pursuit of medical knowledge, he is of the belief that the death of a few men is justifiable if it would lead to the saving of many more. He is also one of the foremost leaders in the field of medicine and a talented healer." He finished swallowing.

That sounded interesting.

"Where is he?"

"I'll show him to you right away, my lord."

He looked like an unremarkable man. Short, with black hair, wearing the same cloak that the maesters wore except his was black instead of grey. But his eyes held the same curiosity and thirst for knowledge he had himself when he was younger.

"Lord Stark," he greeted

"Maester Qyburn,"

"It's ex-maester, actually."

"No, it's maester now. You will retain your chain and are allowed to share your medical knowledge with the rest of our acolytes, while I doubt you could ever be assigned to a castle, perhaps you may stay here as a teacher and researcher and rise to Archmaester in time?" I delivered the whole speech without a pause and with every word I said the man's eyes kept bulging until they almost fell out.

"I...-I Thank you, my Lord. A most generous offer. May I ask why are you're offering this to me. You're aware of the reason I was expelled out of the Citadel correct?" He asked, almost not believing what the young lord, and prodigy, in front of him said.

"Indeed I do, while I most certainly don't approve on experimenting on live subjects we may be able to provide some concession under certain…. circumstances." I said with my signature creepy grin. It looked slightly out of place on my 9-year old face but it got him intrigued.

"What circumstances exactly?" He asked skeptically.

"Follow me."

I led him inside into my solar along with our accompanying maesters or rather Winter Mages as they call themselves and sat down.

"Now I am aware that experimenting on live sick subjects may provide more information about the disease and how to battle it. However, we have a way to allow you to experiment on live subjects and not harm them at the same time." I said taking a seat down at my chair and motioning him to do the same. "What do you know of magic, Qyburn?"

"I'm afraid I'm a man of medicine, my lord. I haven't particularly taken interest in the Higher Mysteries." He said, not really understanding where this was all going.

"Well we are all capable of using magic," I waved to my companions. "Therefore, we might be able to put the body on stasis as you experiment, and heal the subjects completely after you're done."

"Magic..?" He said incredulously.

I hated that question. I transfigured him into a monkey, fish, and snake and back to human so that he can get to work, and I stop feeling like Dumbledore on the annual muggle-born students introducing meeting to the magical community.

"Incredible," He murmured.

"Yes. Yes. If you have any questions, you can ask them to Archmaester Marwyn and don't do any experiments without one of our mages beside you." I said, looking back to the stack of letters and reports from the lords, farms, mines, harbors and factories all around the North that seemed to grow in size every time I looked away.

"Of course, thank you for this wonderful opportunity, my lord. I swear you will not regret this."

"I'm sure I won't. Make sure to teach the maesters and acolytes alike all your findings and focus on developing surgery and potions for healing instead of wasting away experimenting."

He bowed his head and I hit him in the back with a secrecy spell as he scurried out of my solar.

I looked painfully at the stack of ever-growing layers of parchment and sighed, "I really need a secretary."

 _Author Note; Longest chapter yet, 6k words. Although I initially wanted to pace the 5 last years along many chapters, I'm not that good in writing and was afraid that I would let most of the ideas go and fuck it up. So apologies if this seemed rushed. I'm always open for questions. This chapter may sound unrealistic as the changes and inventions were implemented almost immediately, please bear in mind that this fanfiction alongside with the subtle magic element of Harry Potter!_

 _NEXT Chapter would be about impressions from the other Kingdoms on Brandon and the North's rise to the power, please tell me which lords or characters you would like to see as well as adding any ideas._

 _To the ones who reviewed that I should allow wildings from beyond the Wall to the North, Stannis offered them the same thing in exchange for bending the knee. They refused. I don't imagine an ex-dark lord would accept that disrespect and allow them lands and while an imperius would work, I'm going to close that door in the next 2-3 chapters. So expect a Beyond the Wall Chapter soon._

 _ **Lord of the Grey**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**The Westerlands, Casterly Rock, Tywin Lannister.**_

Tywin Lannister stood in his solar staring out to Lannisport and the surrounding town deep in thought. He was tall and slender, with greying blonde hair and green golden-flecked eyes. He wore his signature black leather clothes, commanding a very powerful presence intimidating those around him.

Tywin Lannister was confused.

He was the Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport and Warden of the West. He was the most powerful person in the Seven Kingdoms, ruling them in all but name in his time as Hand of the King. Oh he knew he was ruthless and a bit controlling, but he was also calculating, intelligent, politically astute and cold. He wasn't always like that. In fact, he was used to smiling and twitching his lips upwards from time to time when he was with his lovely Joanna. But that all ended with the birth of the foul loathsome imp that took her… a story for another day perhaps. He had watched his mighty house nearly brought to ruin through his father's actions.

"Tytos Lannister" He sneered just from the thought. His father while a gentle and amiable man was also weak willed and eager to please, loans went unpaid and his bannermen did what they pleased mocking him in their cups or openly defying him. People thought all he did were out of cruelty, they were wrong. He was determined to become a different man than his father and restore his house into greatness. The destruction of House Reyne and Tarbeck was only means to re-establishing his House's fearsome reputation.

They were the richest house in the Seven Kingdoms, and the Westerlands Mountains were filled to the brim with gold. Their wealth only contested by that of the Tyrells. But therein lays the problem. 8000 bloody years of mining gold was enough to make a mountain made solely of gold go empty. While the mines in Casterly Rock weren't empty _yet,_ they were certainly getting there. Fearsome reputation or not he couldn't just seize mines of his bannermen and tell them to go fuck themselves. They would _all_ rebel and end his legacy. It wasn't really an unsolvable problem, mines had to be built and gold areas had to be searched for on the rock but that took money and _time_. Time he didn't have. He wasn't as young as he was, he could feel his wounds aching at the night though never showing his discomfort in front of his enemies lest they get any ideas. He knew his time was soon, but he couldn't… _nay_ wouldn't leave his house on a shaky rock. He had to leave a base that would ensure that House Lannister remains on top even if another Tytos emerges from his descendants.

So when suddenly gold starts flowing down from the North, rumors of mountains in the north filled with gold to the brim, miners starting to travel to the north for better lives and good conditions he had every damn right to be worried.

He always wondered why the north never once produced gold or iron ores; their mountains were almost the size of the Westerlands! 8000 years, not a single ore. He had assumed that they must be empty, lumbs of rock. So when that upstart Stark starts opening mines as much as the ones in the West almost flooding the North with gold, silver and diamonds. Dividing the mountains and mines and gifting them to his bannerman? _Madness_! He could've just taken them all and no one would complain, they were out of all their territories. Not only dividing them, but also assisting them in building the mines, providing equipment for a measly percentage of the mines production. That was absurd. Nobody in the westerlands would ever contemplate doing something like that. And SUDDENLY, the poor Houses of the North had coffers filled with gold. He even heard they were self-sufficient in their production and had vast farmlands and even produced _excess_ food in WINTER when formerly, the North would thank their old gods for having enough food through summer. But that didn't matter; the Tyrells and their pretty flowers could worry about that.

Oh he heard of the new Stark Lord. A once in a millennia genius they said. But even a genius couldn't shift the powers of the Great Houses and Kingdoms so much in just under a decade.

Nothing to do unfortunately, no army could even dare think about going to the North. The northern savages would all crush them before they passed through the Neck, and with the Twins destroyed in that freak chain of earthquakes that happened in the North it was even more unlikely for them to reach the North. What was he going to do? Have them swim to the north.

He shook his head briefly dismissing those thought, perhaps he should send Tyrion to the Citadel if that's the kind of intelligence they produce. Bah, he would complain of the lack of whores in the Citadel and embarrass himself and the Lannisters by extension. No, he would stay at the Rock where he could keep an eye on him and limit his perversions and whoring as much as he could.

He stared at the sealed golden wax on the letter that just arrived by raven from Kingslanding. "No doubt Robert wants another loan for drinks and whores," he thought disdainfully. All he could do now was increase his influence in court and hope that his grandson knew that he was a Lannister first and a Baratheon second when he ascended to the throne. All he could was waiting.

 _ **The Reach, Highgarden, Mace Tyrell.**_

The Reach was the most fertile and populous region of Westeros, allowing House Tyrell to gain immense wealth (through taxation of the large population) and also to muster an enormous army of 100,000 men. The Tyrells can typically raise and equip almost twice as many soldiers as any of the other Great Houses in Westeros.

Mace Tyrell was a simple man. He had three strong boys, Willas, Loras and Garlan, all as handsome as he is and his little queen Margaery, she had that grace and lithe of all the Tyrells. His wife Alerie was a beautiful young woman from house Hightower. " _He knew some people thought his mother was the ruler of the Reach, but oh how wrong they were_." He thought puffing up, " _He was the true power in the Reach, the Lord of Highgarden ruling from atop with a steel grip, the only undefeated man in the Rebellion_."

"And what do you intend to do about this Mace?" said his mother, interrupting his musing.

"About what exactly mother?" He said.

"About what, he says. Of course you have no idea you oaf. All the Northern houses have stopped paying us for food and the North has always bought a lot of food from us, almost as much as Dorne and the Stormlands combined."

"So? Winter has passed; perhaps they have enough food this year."

"Oh by the seven, married to an oaf who managed to fall off a cliff while riding and gave birth to another." She swatted him over the head surprisingly strong, "The north never has _enough_ food you stupid lump."

Mace hummed noncommittally waiting for her to get over with it.

"You still have no idea where I'm getting to, are you?" She said tiredly, "Don't answer that. It means, they either have another cheaper _better_ supplier, or they are making enough food. Both are worrying thoughts."

"The Northern lands are brittle mother and who are they going to get food from? The Riverlands don't produce enough food to solely provide the North and getting food from the Free Cities would cost much more than getting it from us." Mace remarked, greatly impressed with himself for such an intelligent comeback. "The Reach has the most fertile lands and they will come back to us, beggar cups in hand, sooner or later."

"We will have to see but mark my words Mace, the North is on the rise."

"They are the weakest Kingdom of the seven, mother." He said, getting up.

"Sit down you oaf. Haven't you heard of the boy lord Stark? He was at Oldtown a few years ago and world from the Citadel is he is a prodigy, forged all his chains in a record time and went back to the dreary cold North with the respect and admiration of the Archmaesters. Rumors of another Citadel being built in the North have reached my ears."

"Rumors are just that mother, rumors." He said frowning.

"He was five name-days you dunderhead and those were no rumors!" She said throwing a spoon at his temple and sniffing, "Five name-days and forging chains at the Citadel while all your sons know is how to swing swords and could barely count the petals on a flower."

"Yes, Loras is showing a natural talent with a sword isn't he? Almost as good as I was when I was younger," He said chuckling, "Almost, but not as good."

Olenna stared at him incredulously for a moment before shaking her head and getting up, muttering words that sounded suspiciously like oaf, fat lump and other various obscenities that no lady at her age should say.

He watched his little Margaery playing the gardens infront of the balcony. " _She would soon grow up to be as beautiful as the Queen of Westeros"_ He though _t, "Perhaps we should arrange a marriage between Margaery and the Crown Prince Joffrey in the future. Could you imagine that grand picture? The next generation of Tyrell's on the Iron Throne? House Tyrell's power in the Seven Kingdoms would grow in leaps and bounds and his mother could cease all her whining of the North"_

 _ **Dorne, Sunspear, Doran Martell.**_

Dorne is the hottest region of Westeros. The region is rocky, mountainous, arid and dry, and features the only desert on the continent. Dorne is bordered by the Sea of Dorne to the north, the islands known as the Stepstones to the east, and the Summer Sea to the south. Stretched between them is the mountain range known as the Red Mountains, which separates Dorne from the stormlands to the north and the Reach to the northwest and west.

The Dornishmen lived a hard life, almost as hard like those at the North. While Dorne's rivers provide some fertile lands and even during a long summer there is enough rain and other supplies of water to keep Dorne habitable. Inland water is almost as valuable as gold, and wells are jealously guarded.

Although the least populated region in Westeros as well as the most hot-blooded, it has been avoided just like the North from invasions and wars. When the Andals came to Westeros with their Faith they mostly avoided Dorne, only making adventures toward it. The only notable thing that happened in the past thousand years was the Rhoynish migration. The Rhoynish Wars forced the people of the Rhoynarto flee their homeland along the Rhoyne in Essos. Led by their legendary warrior-queen, Nymeria, they left in a fleet of ten thousand ships, eventually making landfall at the mouth of the Greenblood in Dorne. Nymeria allied with Lord Mors Martell of the Sandship, and with his support conquered the entire peninsula in Nymeria's War, uniting it with House Nymeros Martell of Sunspear as its ruler.

Even Aegon the Conquerer with his Dragons couldn't conquer Dorne as he did with the other realms. One of Aegon's sisters, Rhaenys Targaryen, flew on her dragon, Meraxes, above the Dornishmen guarding the Prince's Pass, but each Dornish castle she visited was abandoned. When she came to Sunspear, she was met by Princess Meria Martell, who warned that the Targaryens would face peril if they attacked Dorne.

In 4 AC, however, Aegon I announced another campaign, which became the First Dornish War. Whereas other kings and lords had taken to the field against Aegon, or clustered in castles, the Dornish refused to give open battle and allow Aegon to deploy his dragons. Instead, they turned to ambush and raids, striking quickly and then slipping back into the desert or through the mountain passes, where even the dragons could not find them.

Aegon's younger sister-wife, Queen Rhaenys, participated in this war, which eventually lead to her death. Meraxes was also killed, being hit in the eye by a scorpion at the Hellholt. In time, Aegon pulled away from Dorne.

Although eventually partially subdued and joined to the Seven Kingdoms by peace not war, 150 years after the Targaryean Conquest.

The great people of Dorne had a great and proud history, and the ruling House Martell was now led by Doran Martell.

Some people, his brother Oberyn for example, thought he should rise in rebellion once again in answer for the injustice and murder of his sister Elia and her children. It was a good thing then that Dorne was not ruled by these people.

Dorne has gained from peace a lot and although they could definitely rise and announce sovereignty, they had a lot to lose. The union of the Seven Kingdoms wasn't done in fear of dragons nor for benefits, the Dornish have lived in these deserts for thousands of years and they were unconquerable in their deserts and mountains. But should they split from the Seven Kingdoms, Dorne would fall. The Reach would stop selling food to them and they had no other way to get it. Their trading was pitiful and the only thing they had in their harbor was ships from the Free Cities which also diminished in number after the earthquake in the North and the Canal they built linking the Narrow Sea to the Sunset Sea and cutting down time travel for Braavos and Pentos almost by half. In the past, they had to travel all around Westeros and stop in Dorne for supplies. Now all they had to was just cut right through Westeros.

While Dorne was the farthest from the North, they had also heard the rumors about the rise of their northern brethren. Doran hated a lot of people, Tywin Lannister, Gregor Clegane, Amory Lorch and Robert Baratheon for the murder of his sister and her children and the subsequent injustice against her murderers.

People might have thought that he hated Eddard Stark as well, but he couldn't in good faith hate him. He was an honorable good man from what he heard. The only man that protested his sister's death and injustice from what he has heard. If his sister Elia was kidnapped he would've travelled the entire World to take her back so he didn't blame him. While didn't hate the Starks and the North, he didn't love them either. And Ned Stark was of no consequence anyway, the new lord Stark was.

Brandon Stark.

He was named after his father or his famous ancestor Bran the Builder, born in Dorne from a secret marriage between his father and Ashara Dayne. His sudden emergence was slightly suspicious and many thought that Ned Stark would claim him a bastard as to take Winterfell for himself. But once again Ned Stark proves his owner in removing his titles almost immediately and taking the boy back to his home as the new Lord of Winterfell.

Gone to the Citadel at the age of 5 and forged every chain there within the year, a genius. Bran the Builder reborn they called him. The Rise of the North and their houses was swift and sudden with his inventions that seemingly popped out every day. But if rumors of his intelligence were true it wasn't surprising.

Northeners rarely married Dornish for the simple reason that it was too far away. The North was on one side and Dorne was at the other side of westeros. But here we have a great lord born from the two corners of the continent and revered as great as the Winter Kings of old.

The whispers from the North said that every commoner there had a better life than anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms. Their health and welfare was almost as good as nobles and each House in the North had a hospice that treated commoners for free. Medical advances and inventions were bred every day in the North. The north this, the north that. It seems that every lord in the seven kingdoms was interested in a marriage with this young Lord. All of them were rebuffed. It wasn't that surprising actually. After the disaster that was Lyanna Stark's arranged marriage and Ned Stark being forced to marry a Riverrlander that wasn't particularly loved in the north, coupled with Northeners generally shying away from marrying down south, it was unlikely that he would accept any.

But perhaps he could see whose side that lord was. An alliance with Dorne would be beneficial and even though the boy was from the North he still had hot dornish blood flowing through his veins. It would have to be approached carefully. Perhaps sending an invitation to Dorne from his mother's house and asking for him to visit Sunspear for improving relationships between the two kingdoms.

He would first have to ask Oberyn for anything he heard from his old friends and the Citadel and if it's acceptable, arrange a marriage between Arianne and him. He could wait; he has been waiting for 9 years for his sister's justice and would wait a hundred more if he had to. Patience was always rewarded.

 _ **King's landing, The Red Keep, Robert Baratheon's POV.**_

" _Holy shit, that whiskey is strong_ ," thought Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm and professional drunk and whoremonger as he took another gulp from the bottle.

It was a good thing those bloody dragons were dead. He still had dreams of killing Rhaegar and the pleasure from caving in his breastplate. But the thought that was running through his head was different from regular. As soon as the blasted dragons left the north changed remarkably, pouring gold from the taxes as much as two kingdoms from trade, mining and farming. We could send beggars and commoners who did nothing but increase the smell of shit in King's landing north and they would have jobs instead of sitting here on their asses.

He was glad for his friend Ned, living the peaceful life he wanted and handing the North to his nephew who perfected the art of brewing, making drinks from all colors and varying levels of drunkenness. The boy forged his chains at the citadel at 5 the Grandmaester said and yet, that old fool could do nothing of the wonders that young boy made. Jon was particularly interested in that new lord and was considering inviting him to court and perhaps offer him a position on the small council in the future.

No more wines of different kinds for when he wanted to lose himself. Now he could have a different drink for every different occasion without having to drink flagons of wine to get tipsy.

Perhaps he should visit the north soon, he thought as he looked down at his body in disgust. He has grown fat and lazy from sitting around all day doing nothing. Ruling the Seven Kingdoms was Jon's thing really. He still had no idea why he had gone along with being the King of the Seven Kingdoms in the first place. Yes it was another victory over the damned Targaryens but it wasn't for him. Jon cajoled him into the position quickly before he could utter a word as the best suited one. He needed a war to get him moving but for now, he was going to enjoy his drinks

The only downside of the whole thing that he had to specify what he wanted to drink these days to dumb Lancel Lannister. No more could he just shout bring me something to drink. Now he had to specify which. He supposed even a king couldn't have it all.

 _ **King's Landing, The Hand Tower, Jon Arryn.**_

The north has been one of the recurring themes mentioned in the past small council meetings for the past 5 years. The north has remained in a state of stagnation for almost 300 years. While the prospect of building that much harbors, mines and buildings was worrying it wasn't surprising. Brandon Stark was a smart young lord and with the newfound wealth in the mountains, he was adamant that the North rises like never before. _Bran the builder_ they called him.

Never before has a boy under 14 name days allowed entry to study at the Citadel, yet the Grandmaester spoke almost reverently and excitedly about his meeting with lord Stark. In which he described as a charming young man with wisdom and intelligence that men 10 times his age didn't have. His farming methods and the influx of castle forged steel in the North was having a huge effect as well. He could very well be able to arm and field an army of 150,000 with that much steel and food.

Ned he could trust, he raised the boy himself and was sure the boy wasn't going to turn his eyes south. But that new lord was ambitious, and why shouldn't he? He has done in the past 5 years more than any lord of the north did in a thousand years. He just hoped that he was like Ned and it was doubtful that he would rebel or attack any southern kingdom in the near future. The north had now everything it needs; a friendship with the crown through Ned and farms feeding every mouth in the North mines filling their coffers with gold and harbors pouring trade from all around the world.

The new large fleet was worrying but from what he heard, most of them were trading ships anyway and only 150 –half the size of the royal fleet- was military., mostly used to maintain the seas and fend off pirates which has benefited the Vale greatly as they cover and protect Gulltown harbor and the bite as well which were infected with pirates.

For now, he would continue observing the North and perhaps arrange to foster the boy in King's landing or invite him to court for a while to get a read on him. Maybe even send the boy to deal with the mountain clans of the Vale like he did with their mountain clans. How he subdued the mountain clans in one meeting I would never know.

Still, he had his trust that Ned would keep any unsavory or overly ambitious plans of the boy at bay at least for the next few years, by then the boy would hopefully look at him as a grandfather-figure and trusts him. He would write a letter to Ned again to keep him informed and ask Varys to keep his eyes on any developments in the North.

"The king orders a tourney," said Lord Baelish, Lysa's childhood friend and a bannerman of his.

"The last one was on Prince Joffrey's nameday." Jon said tiredly.

"The King's orders my lord hand." Baelish said with a mocking smile.

He wished he could focus on the North but he first had to keep Robert's urges at bay. Although the taxes from the north had increased, Robert almost spent the entirety of it buying barrels of the new drinks. He would have a talk with him and write that letter later. For now he would have to arrange the tourn… 50,000 golden dragons for the winner of the joust? Some lords didn't have as much as that. Seven hells Robert, are you trying to ruin the Kingdoms on purpose?

Jon sighed tiredly, they used to say the King orders and the Hand builds in the past. Now it became the King shits and the hand wipes. I did a terrible job raising that boy.

 _ **Riverrun, the Riverlands, Hoster Tully's POV.**_

People who knew The Lord of Riverrun would have been gaping at the sight of Hoster Tully at the moment except his brother, Brynden would have laughed mockingly. He looked haggard and gaunt, his hair messy and generally looked worse to wear.

The past few years were a disaster for the Riverlands, raids from the Ironborn which have increased the past few weeks, the destruction of the Freys one of his most powerful –although despicable- vassals, even money that came from the North for food stopped coming. Even his poor Edmure managed to fall into a river and drowned after being harassed by the fish, they say he was drunk and tried to kiss the reflection of the moon. Oh the horror.

The Mallisters were starting to collect supporters to become the new Lord Paramount of the Riverrlands after my death. But I wasn't going to let the Riverrlands fall in shambles and out of our House's hand. I still had an heir who could hopefully grow up nicely. Cat's second son, Bran was his name. Not that infernal Brandon, Warden of the North. No a Bran from his blood, perhaps that name was a lucky name and the boy would help pull the Riverrlands from its decay, Ignoring of course, Brandon Stark's death at King's Landing.

Yes, yes he would send a letter to Catelyn and order her to send her son for fostering here immediately. He wouldn't have an heir who hasn't lived a day in the Riverrlands and his bannerman would definetly not accept him as well. He would groom him to an acceptable Lord of Riverrun who could take over one day, not at all like Brynden.

What the Lord of Riverrun didn't know was that there was a certain retired dark lord who had a grudge against Hoster and wasn't going to leave his southern border in the hands of a fish.

 _ **Beyond the Wall.**_

 _ **Meeting between Brandon Stark and the Three-eyed Raven.**_

"He's waiting for you," intoned a creature from behind a root of the weirwood tree.

I took a closer look and gasped in astonishment, "You're house elf!"

"What?" The house elf said confusedly.

I ignored it and continued, "You have no idea how much I missed your species and come to greatly appreciate them since I came into this wretched place" I said as it puffed up in pride," My servants are absolutely horrible and slow, _so slow._ If I knew that the weirwood tree that kept popping up in my dreams would give me reliable servants I would've come here immediately..."

"We're not servants." It shrieked irritably cutting of my moaning.

I blinked confusedly," You're not wood elves then?"

"The First Men called us 'the Children', but we were born long before them. Your kind arrived in our home, cutting down our forests and fighting us in wars unt.."

I cut the child off, it looked as if it was capable of droning on and on about history just like Binns did back at Hogwarts and said, "I don't particularly care. If you haven't been sending me dreams of house elves then what did you want?"

A voice came from the inside, "They weren't the ones sending you these dreams, I was."

I entered inside the tree to find a pale, skeletal man in rotted black clothing in a weirwood throne of tangled roots. His skin is white, aside from a red blotch on his neck and cheek. He has fine, white hair long enough to reach the earthen floor. He is missing one eye, while the other is red. Weirwood roots surround the man and grow through his body, including his leg and his empty eye socket. That must be uncomfortable.

"I have been expecting you Lord Stark, or is it Tom Riddle or Harry Potter?"

I made my fingers spark with fire and lightning theatrically, changed me eyes red and growled, "Start speaking or I'll burn this tree to the ground, old man."

The man's…tree's? Eyes widened, he had seen what that man had done in his life and he hasn't felt pain in almost 50 years, okay straight forward it is.

"Apologies, My name is Brynden Rivers, Former Hand of the King, Lord Blood Raven and Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and the Last Greenseer." He said hastily, losing the theatrical deep voice and speaking normally.

"And the reason for sending my ridiculous dreams of where you live is…?"

"You've changed the game." He replied plainly and accusingly.

"Pardon me?" I asked confusedly

"You've changed everything! People who should die will live although some cannot be saved. The future is unclear and I can't bloody watch you." He finished in an irritated voice.

Back on Earth, I always applied an anti-scrying charm on myself to prevent anyone from finding me. The habit seemed to carry on here and well, here you go.

"And that concerns me… how exactly?"

"Well, the least you could do was help."

"Help you with what?"

"The white walkers would bring back the Long Night and with it destruction for your kind," another of the children said.

"They are real… hmm well can you tell me about them?" I asked intrigued. I had, of course, been concerned by the existence of necromancy ice elemental zombies right next to me but I haven't been able to find them or any proof that they were real.

The children look to each other and nodded and a brave one stepped forward and explained, "They appeared before the age of heroes, causing the longest winter in history which lasted a whole generation descending upon Westeros from the Far North, killing all in their path and reanimating the dead as wights to fight in their armies. Eventually, your kind rallied against them and, in a conflict known as the War for the Dawn, defeated the White Walkers and drove them back into the frozen North. They are taller than humans and have long wispy white hair and also commonly a white beard with haunting blue eyes with superstrength and an inhuman beauty. They have pale grey-white skin which is wrinkly but stretched taut across their frames, giving them a somewhat gaunt, sinewy, and mummified appearance despite their overall bulky size. They bring blizzards and death wherever they go having magical powers to control the ice and cold."

"That's all grand and all but magical creatures don't simply pop out in overnight." I interrupted his boring description, "How did they come into existence?"

"We created them," It said, not meeting my gaze.

"And what do you need?" I asked seeing where this was going and enjoying it greatly.

"You're more knowledgeable in magic than any of us, you're the only one who could help to their annihilation" The three-eyed raven said strongly.

I began pacing around the inside of the tree while thinking furiously. What they described was the same as creating inferi mostly, except the part where they could use magic. That was worrying. I could only re-animate dead bodies into moving or attacking my enemies, making them use magic however would require me _to share. my. own._

I looked at them with amusement and said, "For a creation of magic to die, the creator must cease to exist."

They looked outraged and almost lashed out in anger before Bloodraven asked, "Please elaborate Lord Stark."

"Of course," I said, changing into my professor tone that I used back at Hogwarts, "In normal states of necromantic constructs, the will of the creator is enough to control the construct and its destruction is easy as well. A sentient being that could use magic however cannot be achieved without opening a gateway between the creator and the construct. Therefore, I would highly recommend that it shouldn't be used since their destruction in case of them rebelling against the wizard would prove fatal to both sides."

"So we would have to die regardless," said one of the children sadly.

I nodded my head as I continued, "Your deaths alone won't be enough. A ritual must be done so that the connection could be broken which would cause both sides to fall down and die from the magic."

"Very well then, it was our fault in the first place and we will fix it."

I prepared the ritual in no time carving runes and painting others with my blood in a circle inside the cave. In 10 minutes of chanting it was done. Although I had an important enemy who could have possibly been a nuisance in the future destroyed. They were still both magical species, and I was always concerned of the survival and magic and magical creatures.

As I started walking out of the cave so I can apparate back to Winterfell, Brynden screamed in a panicked tone, "What about me?"

I turned around and smiled apologetically as he deflated in comfort and said, "I apologize, I forgot." I raised my wand pointing it at him, "Avada Kedav.."

"NO!" He interrupted in a shrilly tone.

I frowned lowering my wand, "What do you want then?"

"Free me and heal me of course." He said in an indignant tone.

"Why would I do that?" I asked crossing my arms over my chest and looking on amusedly.

"What?" he asked confused.

"What would I possibly earn from doing that?"

"I helped you destroy you the White Walkers." He said sweating.

"No, I destroyed the White Walkers. Even without your dreams a bit of fiendfyre would've probably taken care of most of them. Since you can't find something beneficial to me…" I said while turning around to leave.

"Wait-WAIT, I could help you. I'm a greenseer, a thousand eyes and one. I could help you see all over Westeros with my warging."

"I could do better with my wards," I said yawning and covering my mouth.

"I could teach anyone you want with the talent, to warg and greenseer like me. Can you imagine that? It could be your Hogwarts in Westeros." He said while smiling hopefully.

"I'm not going to teach uncontrollable people magic and I'd definitely not hire you in my school if I made one." I replied not impressed, almost reaching the cave entrance.

"I could make a mean treacle tart." He said panicked, stopping in my tracks.

"Treacle tarts?" I asked without turning around, I had an obsession with treacle tarts as Harry Potter, and none of the thrice damned cooks could do it right. I was almost going to give a lordship to the cook that would make me good treacle tarts.

"Yes, yes delicious treacle tarts with cream, custard and lemon juice," He said triumphantly as my mouth watered and vision filled with images of treacle tart.

"You're hired," I said immediately.

I turned around and began unraveling the roots of the trees from around his body and releasing him, proceeded to heal his body from the damage caused by the roots and gave him various fast acting nutrient potions for malnourishment.

"I can probably re-grow that eye back at Winterfell," I said as he stood inspecting his body for the first time in years and walking around like a child.

"Wha… Yes, yes of course. Thank you my lord, I am forever in your debt."

"Just make me good treacle tarts and teach the damned cooks as well and you can consider your debt paid."

I didn't come back from my adventure with a house elf but at least I got a cook.

Author Notes; -I hope this chapter was entertaining. Some of the chapter was generally information of the kingdoms but I hope you like it. Please check the poll and vote which character you would like for Brandon to engage in a relationship with. Vote up to 2.

-Please review and suggest which house Brandon should've alliances with, if and where he should be fostered at and what house will have the first interaction with the Starks.

-Next chapter will feature Greyjoy Rebellion and general awesomeness from our favorite retired dark lord


	7. Chapter 7

_**Winterfell, 289 AC.**_

Winterfell and the surrounding land have grown substantially in the past 4 years. From its original size of almost a hundred thousand square meters to a staggering area of almost 900,000 square meters. While the castle itself occupied only 200,000 square meters of the area. The rest was occupied by private farms within the castle itself in case of siege which held a lot of land, the Northern Temple of Knowledge and the Factory covered almost as twice the castle at almost 400,000 sq. meters.

Wintertown was now a proper city that had a large population of 190,000 and has changed almost entirely. Almost all the neighborhoods were built of concrete with supporting steel beams with several institutions and hospices owned by Lord Stark. Wintertown was divided into several neighborhoods each with a completely different design, emulating each of the different Kingdoms and even the Free Cities. The city was remarkably well kept and clean, no beggars or cripples anywhere, the smallfolk were dressed in different designs of wool instead of the traditional rags.

The castle lying at the top of the hill it is situated upon was protected by a moat and a 90 feet high, 10 feet thick white circular wall of fused white stone like the rest of the castle that shone in contrast to the grey of the North and looked as if it was carved from marble with not a single trace of stone. 4 wooden retractable gates connected the keep to the second section which held the factory. Six round towers that were designed to give an unobstructed panorama of the countryside around a fortress, so lookouts could spot oncoming attackers, armed with large ballistae were built at intervals and placed strategically on the wall rose at almost 130 feet high with Wolf banners on top of them.

Some of the buildings; the armory, the glass gardens, the kennels and the library were relocated to the second section that held the factory and the Temple. A section of the innerward encompassed the Godswood which was trimmed and taken care of by a contingent of gardeners that maintained their beauty and planted different kinds of trees and flowers as well as the weirwood trees.

The kitchen, almost as large as the old castle's great hall was located next to the gate connecting it to the food storage for easy access was connected to the main keep, the brewery and contained bakehouses inside solely for the castle. Winterfell had almost 35,000 head of cattle and growing, 80,000 sheep and pigs. The old stables were torn down and a new stable complex was built to accommodate for almost 1000 horses, leading to a large rectangular riding ground surrounded by the stables and carriage house.

The inner courtyard was expanded and paved with concrete and rock and surrounded by arched porticoes that divided the courtyard into several sections clearly with a large direwolf statue made of silver standing proudly on its hind legs in the middle. Several other buildings surrounded the walls since most workshops and smiths were relocated to the factory. The Keep stood in the middle of it all, looking as majestic as it could be, with a thin layer of snow adding to the gleaming white of the castle. It was pentagonal, with each side facing a tower. Fifteen lean, round towers were attached to the keep, growing in height from the first tower as large as the walls, to the last and largest almost twice as high with large snarling direwolf gargoyles atop each side that were pitched black with wings stood imperiously looking down on the castle.

Looking at the castle from distance, you could admire the symmetrical three circular walls that encompassed Winterfell, going upwards the hill until you could see the beauty that was the castle. All in all, the castle was a combination of beauty and power. Providing protection for the north and deserved the title 'The heart of the North' and signifying doom for enemies, making even the bravest of soldiers quiver in its sight.

The castle held 700 rooms and every corridor was littered with ivory and marble busts of Winter Kings and Lords of the Old and Direwolves , marble columns towered on both side and alcoves filled with magnificent tapestries from all over the world, portraits of famous battles.

All of that was achieved because of a young man who was slightly egotistical and vain.

You didn't really expect a former dark lord, leader of the world to rule in a medieval hovel, did you?

 _ **Training Courtyard, Winterfell.**_

Brandon remained firmly on defense as Rodrick Cassel, The Master-at-arms of winterfell continued to attack with his sword trying to find an opening. He wasn't really expecting to beat me, did he? _'Training'_ with swords from the age of five and having a _natural_ talent should've probably made Rodrick realize that he didn't have any chance against the 9 year old that stood almost lazily parrying his slashes.

I dipped and weaved right as Rodrick took an opening and tried to end it which I quickly parried with my Valyrian Steel sword. I was slightly too young to use Ice so I had to fight with a bastard sword that I found down in the vaults. I brought down my sword to the side and attacked the sudden open spot, but Rodrick managed to shuffle away and counter attack which I blocked. He tried to strike forward and I only managed to evade it with my superior reactions.

I took advantage of his momentum and slightly extended my leg to the left causing him to double over and fall face first to the dirt. "Dead," I said with a slight grin, placing my sword at his throat.

Rodrick got up with a wince, "Your skill is as perfect as always, my lord." He said with a mixture of pride, pain and embarrassment.

"Thank you, Rodrick." I said as I sheathed my sword and allowed Rodrick to return his sword to its place. I haven't been beaten at a spar or a fight ever. I could literally use every weapon that existed in this medieval world. Now you might wonder why a wizard would learn to use weapons, the Avada Kedavra was a clean easy way to kill anyone and anything. The answer was Bellatrix. Bellatrix was fascinated by the way muggles killed each other and I have to admit, there was a certain satisfaction in killing someone with your own hands, or sword. So, adamant not to allow a death eater to supersede me in anything related to general evilness and maliciousness, I copied the knowledge of Master Fighters from all around the world and every Valentine's Day we raided with muggle weapons.

I generally preferred a double edged spear but it was generally uncomfortable in close quarter combat in a real war. So I had re-forged the Valyrian steel I found in the vaults into a ridiculously elaborate bastard sword made. The blade was tinted bright orange near the crossguard and slowly turned red as you went upwards to the tip of the blade with the words 'Soul Reaper' carved on it. The crossguard was made of a black and red phoenix with ruby eyes, with a grip of red-black tinted Valyrian steel. The pommel was, of course, a snarling black dire wolf. It was perfectly balanced and had numerous charms and runes carved on it that added to its elaborate look.

I had an enormous appreciation to my new family and bloodline here. Back in my world, Purebloods could only trace their bloodlines back 3000-4000 years. Here, the Starks were an eye-boggling 8000 years old. Blood of the first men flowed in their veins and had a tiny bit of magic inside them. Not enough to use it of course, but enough to make them stronger and more enduring than the other people who lived in the seven kingdoms. With the one in a thousand that could warg. It was so… specific and limited.

It wasn't necessarily a bad thing. While I wouldn't have my Westerosi Hogwarts any time soon, I wouldn't have uncontrollable wizards as well.

 _ **Castle Black, the Wall.**_

"Lord Stark, it's a pleasure to have you at the wall." Jeor Mormont, 997th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch said as he met the young Lord Stark at the gates of Castle Black.

"The pleasure is all mine, Lord Commander" I said as I climbed down from my horse.

We stood in an awkward silence for a moment until a man beside Mormont said, "Please come inside, Lord Stark. The King's Tower has been prepared for your arrival."

I nodded and gestured for him to lead us there as I gazed upon the wall. It was a massive construct that reached over seven hundred feet at its highest point. What was more interesting however was that I could feel strong ambient magic emanating from the wall. Unsurprising really, it just reaffirmed my belief that the First Men had magic of their own. It had weird runes that I couldn't actually read but could sense their purposes. Spells and wards against necromancy mostly. It was built completely by men however. Nothing was conjured and magic was only used in making sure the wall doesn't fall, but nothing was used in its construction. To think, my namesake built that monstrosity to defend against the fuck up the children created.

It was not a true castle, as it has no walls to defend it to the west, east, or south. Only the Wall stands to the north. It consisted of several stone towers and timber keeps. Beneath the keeps and towers, there was a series of subterranean passages called wormwalks which connect all of the buildings. It was black, obviously. Ridiculously undermanned and barely had enough supplies to function properly.

As our rather large party settled in their apartment, I went to the Lord Commander's solar to discuss my excursion.

"Please sit down, Lord Stark." The man said gesturing to a chair in front his desk. "Now, may you explain the reason of your visit?"

"You do realize that a Stark built the wall don't you?"

"Of course I do." The man said unkindly, "But, lords rarely concern themselves with the state of the Wall and only come here to defend against a King-Beyond-The-Wall."

"Indeed, I planned to arrange transport for several mammoths and large spiders from beyond the wall. Ships have landed at the Shadow Tower and our party is here to guide them there," I told the old man. During my previous visits, I have found a large colony of Acromantulas and Mammoths in there. I was determined to use the Mammoths like the Essosi used elephants in their wars and the Acromantulas were going to be domesticated _forcibly_ and bredand their psychology altered so their only goal in life, is reproducing and producing silk. Precious silk which was going to boost the textile industry of the North ten-fold.

"Most people believe them to be a myth," he said with a raised eyebrow, "But I don't think you'd send a trading fleet and a large party believing they were a myth."

I remained silent, waiting for him to get on with it.

"Very well, my Lord," He said tiredly as he saw that I wouldn't budge. "I, however, can't spare that many men to accompany your large party and protect them."

I waved my hand dismissively, "I will only need 3 rangers to guide us through the land beyond the wall. A larger party is sent aboard the ships and will take care of the transport."

He nodded, "Alright, that's acceptable."

"In the future, we will also provide steel weapons and armor to arm the entirety of the Night's Watch as well as provisions and smallfolk who would occupy the Gift to produce food so that the Night's Watch could focus on manning the wall." I said to sweeten the deal.

His eyes gained a gleam of gratefulness and satisfaction and began stuttering thank you's and praises that looked out of place on the old man's face as I waved them all off.

Our party moved a week later and begun our excursion. I had already gone back and collected colonies in the same place, applied calming wards and non-aggressive charms on all of them so as to not waste time. It took almost a month to round up almost 200 adult Acromantulas and 80 mammoths and by then, they could deal with it on their own and they would find the new breeding facility available back at Winterfell when they returned.

There were whispers of a King beyond the wall gathering clans together but it was so small that it was of no consequence and could be dealt with at a later time.

For now, I had to go to Braavos.

 _ **Braavos, Essos.**_

I had to spend almost 2 weeks travelling to Bravoos on my personal ship, the Great Wolf. Six masts and 350 feet long and 60 feet wide beam. The wooden frame and hull was strengthened by steel, chords, arches, and also was diagonally strapped with steel. With charms and runes to keep the interior dry, reduce weight, reduce resistance from waves and a perfect balance. The ship achieved almost 30 knots average. While the other ships in the Northern fleet had their own charms, they could travel at a maximum of 14 knots. This was the perfection of ship making in this world. It was armed with Scorpios and ballistae for extra protection, not that it needed it. It could outrun any ship this medieval world could ever make.

I couldn't help but feel jealous when I saw the Titan in the distance. The Titan rose at least 500 feet. The Wall was taller than the Titan, yes. But this was an entirely man made creation. The feet of the statue laid on two separate islands, each set upon a mountain. The islands were covered in soldier pines and black spruce. The legs were made of the same black granite that formed the islands upon which it stood. One hand rested on the top of a ridge, its bronze fingers wrapped around the stone. The other hand thrust into the air holding the hilt of a broken sword. In its eyes burnt large fires and its hair was of hempen rope dyed green. Its head was crested with a bronze half helm and its breastplate was made of bronze and filled with arrow slits. The Titan's hips were encased in an armored skirt of a green bronze hue, the bottom covered in murder holes instead of brass bollocks as I expected.

It looked like Venice from my old world. The city is spread across hundreds of tiny islands in the lagoon, connected by arched stone bridges and a network of canals not unlike the land under Ramsgate in the North which I planned to grant to uncle Benjen.

They had some trouble docking though, as many stared gawping at the sheer size of his vassal. Instead of docking at the foreign merchant's dock like any other did. We had to anchor next to an island and go to mainland with small boats.

I quickly made my way towards my goal in the same place while hiding any interest I had in the city behind a cool mask of indifference.

The Iron Bank; the most powerful financial institute in the Known World with clients across Essos and Westeros and most importantly one of the loaners to the Iron Throne. It had a fearsome reputation when collecting debts. When princes or kings default on their debts or are foolish enough not to honor their agreements with the Iron Bank, new princes and kings appear with the Iron Bank's support. These new princes and kings then honor the previous debt along with paying back the money the bank loaned them in claiming their new power, lest they suffer the same fate as their predecessors.

I gazed upon the golden doors of the building that had carvings depicting different scenes and buildings in Braavos, with two golden triangles crossed in the manner of an hourglass, with two hands extending from left and right of the point where the triangles meet, their palms held upwards above as its symbol.

I was directed to a meeting room to wait for the representatives.

Three people quickly entered and sat upon their elaborate chairs and gestured for me to sit on a ridiculous simple chair on the other side of the table.

I swallowed my pride and sat down without a word just meeting the man's gaze until he said, "How may the Iron Bank serve you, Lord Stark."

"I would like to establish a partnership between the North and the Iron Bank." I said bluntly.

The man looked not impressed and replied, "The Iron Bank could loan the North without the need for a partnership."

I barked a laugh and said, "I most definitely don't need a loan. What I want is to establish the first proper partnership between the Iron Bank of Braavos and a Kingdom of Westeros."

The man's facial expression hasn't changed as he replied, "And why should the Iron Bank partner itself with the North and not, the Lannisters or the Crown directly perhaps?"

"Because the North has mountains as large as the entirety of the Westerlands full of gold, is considered the new trading center between Westeros and Essos and is currently the richest Kingdom of Westeros."

"Really now, the North may have rose remarkably in the past few years but do you truly expect me to believe that you're richer than the rest of the Seven Kingdoms?" the man said incredulously.

"If the Iron Bank agrees for a partnership with the North, House Stark is ready to take care of the entire expenses of constructing a bank as large as your own in the North in addition to a base investment of 50 million dragons." I said in a strong voice. Winterfell vaults didn't have that much money of course, but a Philosopher Stone took care of that small problem.

The man's eyes widened, the first reaction he made from the beginning in the meeting.  
"Fiff- Fifty million golden dragons?" He asked, trying to regain his composure.

I nodded.

The man straightened and asked, "And why partner with the Iron Bank? You could establish your own Northern bank in the North without any help from us."

"The North and Braavos share their location in the north of both our continents. We were the first kingdom that outlawed slavery, we are both the largest trading hubs of both our continents and linking your city to our kingdom in an alliance would be far beneficial than making a rival bank. Also, the Iron Bank integrity and reputation would be hard to match."

He nodded shakily as he still looked shaken, "And the terms of this partnership?"

"The Iron Bank of the North would have a council made of a mixture of Northmen and Braavosian, allowing deeper relationships. Also, a percentage of the council in Braavos would be open for lords and merchants of the North. A Great council would conclude for general matters regarding the Iron Bank every 3 months and each bank would be concerned solely to its continent to allow better and deeper influence on both sides. Braavos and The North would have a military alliance and no taxes on any Braavosi or Northerner ships entering both our ports and harbors."

"That matter concerns the Sealord not the Iron Bank," He interrupted.

"I'm sure if the Iron Bank endorses it the sea lord would be amiable to accepting the alliance." I said with a dismissive wave of my hand, "Lastly, a Northern Trading center would be established in Braavos and the same at the group of Islands that were created due to the unfortunate earthquakes that hit the North beneath Ramsgate."

The man looked to the men to his sides and he replied after a moment of furious whispering, "Unfortunately, I can't answer you in such a large matter. We would convene a council and answer you. How long are you staying in Braavos?" The man asked.

"For as long as it takes to establish a partnership with the Iron Bank." I said simply.

"Excellent, we will send a representative to you by the end of the week with our answer and hopefully, a contract."

I nodded and strode out of the room with a serpentine grace.

I realized I had little to do and set out to explore the city.

The palace of the Sealord was a beautiful thing made up of domed marble structures. It housed the Purple Harbor where all local ships docked. I passed through numerous bridges and canals walking around distractedly while admiring the beauty of Braavos. It was unlike the North in its architecture and buildings but shared the same blasted weather although a bit lighter.

I soon reached the Drowned Town, the oldest part of the city. Only domes and towers of the buildings were visible above the surface of the water. Some poor people lived in some of the half-submerged buildings. I passed the Isle of the Gods in the center of the city. What stood out the most was the Temple of Moonsingers, who led the original Braavosi refugees to the islands. Theirs was the biggest temple, built of white marble capped with a silvered dome, milk glass windows showing all the phases of the moon, and a pair of marble maidens flanks its gates. A Red Temple that was dedicated to the Lord of Light, a small sept and other unkown gods and temples were the shrine of the Weeping Lady of Lys, the Gardens of Gelenei, the wooden hall of the Lord of Harmony, the house of the Great Shepherd, a three-turreted tower honoring Trios, the Stones of the Silent God, the Patternmaker's Maze, the temple of Aquan the Red Bull, and twin temples honoring Semosh and Selloso, and the temple of the Cult of Starry Wisdom. Even gods that have no more followers are honored in a temple called the Holy Refuge.

It was the last building that he came upon that he felt an indescribable pull towards. It was a simple large building with only a black and white door as an entrance. "Ahh, so this was the famous House of Black and White," I thought with a grin as I pushed the doors. "It should prove interesting to see."

The entrance hall to the large building was simple though there were various statues in the room, all of gods and even a weirwood tree.

"Valar morghulis," A voice intoned from behind me.

I spun around to find a man wearing rags and held a curious inquisitive look on his face. "Valar Dohaeris," I replied, the customary greeting of Braavosi.

"You are touched by the Many-Faced god, but you are not a servant…" he asked helplessly confused.

"So that's what you call the old fucker here," I muttered I cleared my throat and asked, "Am I really?"

He nodded and looked as helpless as ever," Some have come here to ask that you be delivered the gift, but the many-faced gods forbids it."

Someone wanted to assassinate me, how curious.

"Well, that is for me to know and for you to find out. Cheerio!" I said cheerfully as I left the man and started walking outside.

"The faceless men would be honored to deliver the gift to any you seek," The man said before I closed the door.

That was nice, but I truly doubted I would need an assassin to finish off a job for me.

 _ **A week later.**_

Finally, the hour has come. I was waiting for the representatives to give me their reply for my offer.

The three same men entered like the last time with a stack of parchment in their hands and sat down, "The Iron Bank would be glad to establish the Iron Bank of the North with your partnership." The man said with a disarming smile as if he was doing me a favor but I couldn't bring myself to care right now.

I finally held the economic titan of the Known World in my grasp.

"And the terms?" I asked barely restraining myself from jumping up and down.

"The Iron Bank is willing to accept 25% seats in the Northern Branch in return for clearing 25% of ours for Northeners. But…" Fuck me. "The Iron Bank wishes to pay 50% of the fees for building the Bank in exchange for establishing another branch of the Temple of Knowledge in Braavos as well as marketing the medicine and investing in its research."

That… was great actually. I held onto the medical knowledge jealously and never once thought about distributing them. Producing medicine that could heal almost most of the fevers and diseases on a wide-scale in both the continents would provide another huge source of income.

"You have the papers for that, I assume?"

"Of course," He smiled, handing me a huge stack of parchment to revise and sign. As I looked incredulously he elaborated, "You have to understand that this is a huge venture for the Iron Bank so we had to be a bit thorough than usual. This is just the agreements and investments in the Bank and the Temple as well as a 60 million golden dragon penalty if Winterfell fails to deliver. Also in the second stack of parchment you would find the proportion of…. "

I smiled weakly as he continued to drone on and on with only one thought on my head, _"I really need a fucking secretary."_ I don't suppose I would have dreams of an office that would have a super secretary trapped in stacks of parchments and quills?

 _ **Winterfell.**_

I spent almost another 3 weeks in Braavos reviewing and bargaining and bantering with the representatives of the Iron Bank. Finally we reached an acceptable agreement for both sides that was highly beneficial and signed on it. I met with the Sealord and quickly signed on the agreement of military alliance and trade agreements. We agreed on trading lots on Firewood to the city as it was rare there.

We took another two weeks to specify which empty Island the Trading Center would be built upon and after a ridiculous amount of paperwork we were done and on our way to the North.

We landed at the new harbor under Ramsgate and rode to Winterfell leisurely gazing upon the grandness and vast improvement in the North and its lands.

If I knew what awaited me at Winterfell however, I would've stayed at Braavos.

"Lord Stark, Lord STARK!" Maester Luwin screamed running from the direction of the Temple looking ridiculous and out of breath.

"Calm down, Maester. What is wrong?" I asked amused.

"The Ironborn have risen in rebellion. They burned the fleet and harbor of Cape of the Eagles, my lord." He said hurriedly.

I should've really place fire-suppression charms there. No matter, I was going to make an example out of the Greyjoys.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Winterfell, The North**_

"Nephew, I heard the news just as I was about to leave for my expedition." Uncle Benjen frowned, "Lannisport and The Cape of Eagles burnt at the same time? Do the Ironborn not know that it's not even our military fleet they burned?"

"It matters not, Uncle Benjen. Regardless of the whole rebellion thingy, this was a direct attack on the North and I will retaliate."

Benjen wore a silly grin and then his face fell almost immediately, "I must remain here, right?"

"Wh-What, why?" I asked baffled.

He frowned and said, "There must always be a Stark at Winterfell."

"Or what, it'll fall?" I asked sarcastically, "Don't be ridiculous Uncle Benjen, your expedition will still go on time. Winterfell will still be standing by the time you return."

He sputtered and shouted, "But there must be a Stark at Winterfell!"

"Who told you that?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.

"Ned."

"And when did Uncle Ned tell you that?"

"When he was off to war…" He trailed off softly as his eyes widened in recognition, "That bastard tricked me!"

"Most likely," I said sympathetically and pointed out, "And you were his heir if anything happened to him during the war."

Benjen muttered obscenities and walked out of my solar and he stopped back suddenly and asked, "Are you going to meet with the throne's troops? How many ships are you taking? Are you sure I shouldn't go instead? You're still young; no one would say a thing."

I sighed, "No, I won't. 5. No, you've delayed your expedition enough. I want to watch the Iron Islands fall myself. Here, in order, now can you please just _go_!"

"FIVE!" He yelled. "The Iron fleet has 300 ships. What are you going to do with 5 fucking ships?"

"Leave that to me." I answered with a shit eating grin.

* * *

 _ **Cape Kraken**_

Unlike what most lords would do in case of an attack. I didn't, in fact, raise any levies or send ravens to any lords to answer the call. I went alone.

I should really start professional troops and a standing army like the Westerlands. We had enough money for it but it has slipped my attention so far. I knew that the Iron Bank was keeping eye on me to see how I would deal with the threat of the Iron Born so I was adamant to impress them.

5 Ships loaded with ballista and scorpios, ridiculously large cannons armed with explosive and enchanted shots that were a Northern secret that were going to wreak havoc and utterly scare the Ironborn for the next 8,000 years.

With the Great Wolf leading them, I set sail from Cape Kraken and our way to Pyke.

I was utterly enamored with the idea of immortalizing myself in a song and was determined to do so. The Rains of Castamere comes to mind, Tywin Lannister was utterly ruthless and 30 years later people sung his song and still feared him for it. The Iron Islands were an annoyance that my fleet had to deal with repeatedly. Their attack on our harbor and fleet was just the push I needed to conquer these Islands. The Royal fleet was luckily engaged with the Iron fleet at the coat of Fair Isle. So I would face no annoyance. My honor was at stake here.

A raven from Moat Cailin almost made me turn back and change all my plans.

6 Year Old Sansa Stark, my cousin, was kidnapped by the Ironborn while she was playing around Moat Cailin and held hostage at Pyke. The sheer audacity of that man surprised me. We had a ridiculously large trading fleet and could arrange transportation for 150,000 levies to storm the Iron Island at a moment noticed, coupled with our military fleet, the Royal Fleet and the Reach Fleet. We were outnumbering him ridiculously. Did he really believe he was going to win this? I was determined more than ever to make an example of Greyjoy.

As soon as Pyke was in sight, I disullisoned myself and apparated to shore. The Castle of Pyke was originally built on a cliff jutting out into the sea, but now its towers stood on small barren rock stacks, surrounded by water. The towers are connected by swaying rope bridges. The keep, its towers, walls and bridges are made of the same grey-black stone of which the rest of the island is composed. "Utterly disgusting" I thought disdainfully. I hit the rocks on which the castle rested upon with weakening and decaying charms and set on to my original task, rescuing my cousin.

"Point me Sansa Stark" I intoned. The arrow rolled for a while until it rested pointing towards a massive building on an equally big isle. 'Must be the Great Keep'

I walked through the Great Keep confidently following the arrow as it changed directions as I neared my target, periodically placing greek fire or wildfire as it's called here in hidden places.

I entered through a small door at the left where I found a small redhead girl weeping softly in the corner. I dropped the disulliosment charm and gently closed the door with a click as her face whipped fearfully towards my direction.

"Shhh, Sansa Stark?" I asked.

She nodded, furiously wiping her tears as I replied with the kindest face I could muster," I'm your big cousin Brandon, have you heard of me?"

"Yes," She whispered softly with hope now in her eyes.

I held my hand out to her and whispered, "Come on, I'm taking you back home."

She jumped into my arms suddenly and started crying while I desperately tried to soothe her, whispering kind words. "I'm going to need you to be quiet now if we want to get out of here. Can you do that for me?" I asked her.

She nodded and I carried her on my back.

I couldn't use my magic so blatantly in sight and as I have tried, and failed, to harm or cast magic directly for some reason on uncle Benjen. I assumed she would be the same. I hit us with a notice-me-not and began walking in the shadows of the castle. Stopping every once in a while to calm the girl each time the storm got particularly fierce. We reached the gates without any problems and were almost going to slip by the guards when Sansa screamed.

Of fucking course the Notice-me-not wouldn't hold with her screaming. There were a couple of Ironborn scums raping a thrall while another lay dead on the floor with his insides spilling all over the floor.

The Ironborn quickly looked towards our direction and began brandishing their swords as I swore and put her down and took out my own.

I threw a dagger directly through the first's throat and he fell down quickly. The second hesitated for a moment to look to his fallen comrade and by then I was within striking distance and pushed my sword through his guts. The last one, enraged ran raising a club towards me which I promptly sidestepped and slashed through his boiled leather with ease.

I wiped the blood of my sword and looked towards the location where I left Sansa to find her in a state of shock. Good, the less crying the faster I could get out of this god-forsaken place.

I carried her on my back and quickly climbed down the rocky isle with a rope where a conjured boat was waiting for us.

I hit the boat with a notice-me-not charm and made my way back to the Great Wolf.

I was going to make those bastards truly regret it.

We reached the ship among cheering from my crew and climbed the ship with the help of the sailors.

I was still carrying Sansa so I rushed quickly and placed her in my cabin and once she was settled, I went outside.

"Milord, ships approaching," He said looking through his spy glass, "Flying House Greyjoy, Harlaw and Hoare."

"Arm the cannons," I yelled and the command was repeated throughout the ships.

I waited until the 30 ships were within shooting distance and yelled, "FIRE"

I stood gloriously as our ships rained fire upon the Ironborn as they jumped panicking from their ships to their precious Drowned God. In just one round the thirty ships were sinking and the survivors thrashing in the sea.

"Now, get us near the Islands boy." I said with a grin as the burning ships illuminated the sky.

* * *

 _ **Banefort, The Royal Army.**_

"The North sends five fucking ships?" Robert Baratheon yelled to no one in particular as he threw his cup of whiskey to the wall.

"It seems they are going to be five ships in the bottom of the sea, your grace." Tywin Lannister said, pointing towards the 30 ships that were approaching the Northern _'fleet'._

"Ned's nephew is on that vassal." He said suddenly panicked.

"Aye, Let us hope the young wolf can run them out." One of the lords said.

"Unlikely, do you see the size of that thing?" Kevan Lannister snorted, but quickly whimpered under the sharp gaze of the king.

"Such a shame," Tywin said without a hint of sympathy.

The Lords muttering was suddenly interrupted by thunderous booms that echoed over the roaring of the storm. The Stark ships were firing weird round shots from their sides that seemed to wreck every ship it hit. They watched as 5 ships drowned 6 times their number without even approaching them, all of them amazed and taken aback.

"Seven Hells," Robert muttered. Even Tywin Lannister, the Old Lion of the Rock himself, stood with a gaping mouth at the destruction. Such weapons would change naval warfare and sieges forever if he could get his hands on it.

"Where are they going?" One of the lords yelled as the Northern ships changed direction and sailed towards Pyke.

All of them stood with a baited breath waiting to see what the boy lord would do next.

"Give me that bloody thing." Robert said, snatching a spyglass from a nearby lord.

He looked towards the ships and saw large cylinderical metal thing raised on the deck and aimed upwards, straight towards the Castle of Pyke. One, two, three more booms were heard and what he saw almost made him piss in fear. The fearsome Castle of Pyke was falling of its rock while other parts were ablaze with green fire eating through whatever part managed to stay on the rock. The ships, without even waiting to see what destruction they caused turned towards Harlaw and did the same as the Ten Towers as it followed suit to the Drowned God.

20 large ships following from the distance landed troops on Pyke and Harlaw consecutively to take control on whatever resistance that would be remaining on the Islands.

As the Young Wolf continued to systematically tear down every castle on the Iron Islands, all the lords and knights could only stand in horror watching with the horrible echo of firing overlapping the storm as a noise.

* * *

 _ **One week later, Tywin Lannister.**_

In only 7 days, the Iron Islands were conquered by the North fleet. In what he thought would be the wolf's downfall; instead it was the reaffirming of the Wolf's danger as an enemy.

Stannis and the Redwyne fleet and their lords arrived on the 4th day and watched with horror at the destruction the 5 vassals wrecked on the iron islands. The only reinforcement ships that were sent, were trading vassals that transported troops to take over and control the islands and slaughter whatever resistance was left. Already, some of the bards were making songs about the destruction. _And they think I am ruthless?_

As the boy of nine climbed down from his now docked ship and made his way towards Robert. He couldn't help but feel disappointed in his children. Why couldn't Jaime be as smart as that boy was? All he knew was swinging that sword of his and taking honor in being a glorified bodyguard. The imp was smart but was a disgrace and stain to the Lannister name. The gods liked to mock the great Tywin Lannister. The boy's gall to marry a commoner girl… a story for another day perhaps…

The lords parted away from the boy'spath with looks of awe, fear and respect. The 9 year old walked with a serpentine grace into the Royal tent and Tywin quickly followed.

"Your grace, Lord Brandon Stark at your service" The boy nodded respectfully with a tight face at Robert as entered the tent.

"You look just like your father. A good man, Brandon Stark was. He didn't deserve that horrible death at the hands of Aerys." Robert said, his eyes filled with rage at the memory of anything Targeryan.

"Thank you, your grace."

"Sit, sit. Would you like a cup of whiskey? Bloody great things your northerner drinks are." The man said joyfully as he poured himself almost a tankard.

The boy said with a smile, "Thank you, I'm not sure Uncle Ned would approve of me drinking at such a young age."

Robert boomed with laughter, "Always was uptight back in our days at the Vale."

"Perhaps we should take care of the matter in hand, your grace." I interjected softly before Robert could regal the boy of tales of his days back at the Vale.

"What matter?" At my sharp gaze towards the Iron Islands he amended, "Ahh, yes of course. Now, what the hell were those thundering things?"

"These were cannons, your grace." The boy answered softly, "A fairly new invention of the North. Untested, but the Ironborn volunteered for its testing."

"Isn't exterminating every rebelling house a tad bit overzealous though?" He chuckled nervously.

"Oh, that wasn't for rebelling."

"Why the fuck did you destroy each and every castle on the Iron Islands then?" Robert asked incredulously.

The boy replied, "It seems the Ironborn forgot what last happened when a Stark was kidnapped." _So that's your play. Clever, I must admit. Reminding Robert that Lyanna was a Stark and his following destruction of the Targeryans._

And just like he thought, Robert eyes darkened with rage and growled, "Kidnapped?"

"Sansa, Uncle Ned's daughter was kidnapped by the Iron scum but luckily, we managed to retrieve her before attacking." The boy nodded with a fake solemn face that I had no trouble spotting. I would bet on the Rock itself that the kidnapping was only a nuisance that served to irritate him and give him one more reason to destroy the Iron Islands.

"Fucking bastards deserved it. Good, no more bloody trouble from the Ironborn anymore."

"There's still a matter of whom would rule the Iron Islands though," I reminded Robert.

"The North would hold four of them for the Iron throne, the Lannisters one and the Royal fleet two. We would make sure that no Ironborn would ever raid the coasts again, and Northern presence would deter any from doing so."

By now Robert had gotten to his 5th drink and his eyes were gleaming with the thought of being the first king that has forever curbed the Iron Islands completely the matter at hand.. The amount of power he was giving the boy with handing over most of the Iron Islands. He answered with slightly glazed eyes. "Yes, Excellent. Make sure those scum never raid, reave or rape again, little Stark."

"Of course, your grace." The boy said looking at me directly and excused himself. _Just what were you getting at?_

"Lord Lannister, A word if you may?"

I nodded and followed the boy outside as he opened, "I heard you were looking for a Valyrian Steel blade for your family."

"Indeed," I said, barely holding my excitement. _Was the boy going to finally give me my greatest desire?_

"And what would you offer if someone perchance, offered you the ancestral sword of the Lannisters itself?" the boy asked

"Anything." I almost growled.

The boy smiled and nodded towards one of his men carrying a chest. The men placed it on the table in front of us and opened it and here it was in all its glory, Brightroar. I gazed with astonishment and resisted the urge to snatch it from the chest and approached softly, looking over the ripples that were the trademark Valyrian Steel sign of authenticity. I carried it and held it in my grip. It was comfortable, perfectly balanced, as if it was made for me in mind.

"Thank you, my lord." I said softly as I straightened up, "A Lannister always pays his debts. Ask anything of me and I will grant it."

"Trabeck Hall." The boy said almost immediately.

I frowned confused, "You are already a Lord Paramount, what use would that ruin be for you?"

"I don't want the accompanying title." He waved his hand dismissively. "I just want to re-build the grounds and castle to the first Northern trading post in the Westerlands. The lands upon the castle would be considered Northern territory and would be solely for providing goods and as a base for northern trade in the west."

I wrecked my mind for any hidden intention the boy could have with asking for that. I could've given him 2 million dragons with no hesitation and he asks for that piece of crap?

"I assume the trading post would pay taxes to Casterly Rock?"

"Of course," the boy answered with a grin.

I nodded and said, "Very well then, from this day forth Tarbeck Hall is yours to do as you wish."

"My builders would arrive within a month. Thank you, Lord Tywin." The boy said, walking off.

"No. Thank you for returning this." I whispered to myself, unwilling to take my eyes of Brightroar lest it disappears.

* * *

 _ **Moat Cailin.**_

The Greyjoy Rebellion- If you can call that a rebellion, has proven extremely rewarding. In a single move I had control over 4 of the most important Islands in the Sunset Sea, took care of the Ironborn problem, and earned the gratitude of the Warden of the West and numerous other lords that suffered from raiding. I of course had to cast a weak confundus on the king to make sure he doesn't reprimand me for destroying over 30 noble houses in a week.

Now some of you might wonder why I don't just imperio the King and a couple select lords and just rule the Seven Kingdoms in one sweep. The answer was quite simple. I was a Hufflepuff. The euphoria from building a standing power base and taking over with no assistance of magic was glorious and made a lasting legacy. All in all, hard work was enticing and arousing for us puffs.

I had heard from numerous sources that Tywin Lannister was searching under every rock in Westeros for a Valyrian Steel sword, offering outrageous rewards and prices. A simple accio, had Brightroar flying in my way and a new military post disguised as a trading post in the heart of the Westerlands, with a direct view of Casterly Rock and Lannisport.

Giving the other 3 islands away wasn't just a spur of generosity. I wanted the Royal fleet and Lannister fleet to relocate some of their ships to the Iron Islands so that I could pick them off and burn them if I ever had a reason to. Now I had the western and eastern coast of Westeros in grasp. With two of the most important fleets –excluding The Reach in westeros just waiting to be burned in case they twitched unnecessarily.

Sansa has been glued to my side ever since saving her with a reverent look in her eyes. I had prior experience of course with being considered a savior a multitude of times but this has been getting a bit irritating to be frank, no wonder I was more comfortable as an orphan. Having family was so… confusing. All my actions had to be considered carefully, along with any consequences they would have on my extended family. It was irritating. I would usually do about anything and everything with no fear of retribution. Who could actually harm me?

We planned to drop her off at Moat Cailin and stay there for a couple of days to check on uncle Eddard and continue to Winterfell.

Moat Cailin is an effective natural choke point which has protected the North from southern invasion for thousands of years. In the past, the only way for an invader to effectively bypass Moat Cailin is to win the allegiance of House Reed and the crannogmen who know of other routes through the swamps. These routes, such as narrow trails between the bogs and wet roads through the reeds that only boats can follow, are not on any map. Given House Reed's strong ancestral ties to House Stark and Howland's personal friendship with uncle Ned, they were unlikely to aid southerners anytime soon. Given the new Grand Canal that completely separated the north from the south, it was impossible to invade the North.

With the builders, concrete and blueprints I sent uncle Ned the Castle has been completely refurbished from the rotten wooden, green keep that it was into a new intimidating structure made completely of stone and concrete. The twenty towers have been completely rebuilt. We had to transport food every month though if we didn't want them to eat food from the swamps. I had half a mind to just vanish the swamps from the smell we suffered on our way but refrained; the swampy terrain was enough to prevent Moat Cailin from falling in the Andal invasion. It was a key defence of the north against which the filthy Andal armies threw themselves time after time with no success.

I have made sure to provide a multitude of weapons to arm the northern side of Moat Cailin to make sure that there were no surprises from the northern flank. The shore of the canal was rocky and no army could ever hope to land on it to take Moat Cailin, that and the inspection of every ship passing through either sides of the Canal. I had the builders build the first retractable double bridge in the North. It was normally lifted to allow ships to pass through the canal and was only brought down to let armies or large caravans to pass through the Kingsroad. In the case of small parties however, a couple of large ferries to allow easy and fast transportation.

Our rather small party arrived at Winterfell whereas all the spoils of war were being transported to Cape Kraken until the new harbor and fleet is rebuilt at Cape of Eagles. The entire habitants of Moat Cailin were standing to greet us.

Catelyn Stark wasted no time in greeting us and just ran to claim her lost daughter and check over her for any superficial wounds or injuries where uncle Eddard stood with his usual grimness with a fond smile on his face and waited for his turn.

"Sansa," she scereamed, "Are you okay sweetling?"

The girl nodded with a watery smile at being reunited with her family and said, "Yes mommy, Brandon saved me."

At the mention of my name Lady Stark looked at me and claimed me in a hug while muttering thanks over and over again. I had no idea how to react to hugs so I just stood awkwardly patting her back. "It was my duty as Lord Stark, my lady."

She backed away quickly and furiously wiped her eyes and curtsied, "I apologize for my lack of decorum, Lord Stark. Welcome to Moat Cailin."

I waved her off, "We're family, please call me Brandon."

"Then call me aunt Cat if you wish," She said with a smile.

 _Yea that wasn't going to happen. I was already pushing it._

I nodded and was once again claimed by a manly hug that belonged to my uncle that was thankfully brief and silent.

"Thank you Brandon. I would've gone myself, but I had to make sure the rest of the North was protected. "Ned said with a strong voice.

"And the rest of the north definitely appreciates it Uncle Ned." I said with an easy grin.

He smiled back and introduced me to a boy around my age, "This is Robb, my eldest son."

"Named after our beloved King Robert?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You've met him then?" He asked with an amused smile.

I nodded, "He was quite put out that he missed out all the fight after our victory at the Iron Islands. That and he were impressed in our weapons."

He bristled at the reminder and looked as if he was about to say something but held himself back and continued, "And you've met Sansa, of course."

"And this little one," he said as he took a bundle from a wetnurse on the sidelines, "is little Bran."

I looked at my namesake or at least I assumed they named him after me, He could've been named after my father or our famous ancestor. "He looks a bit like you, doesn't he?" Uncle Ned asked with a grin.

 _He's barely a few months old, he looks like a potato._ I thought but refrained from answering and just nodded with a smile.

He handed the bundle to his wife and motioned me inside, "We've prepared a feast for you. I'm sure you would rather get some rest of course."

I nodded. I really missed my comfortable feather bed that didn't continuously rock back and forth.

I went to my room and fell asleep with all my clothes on.

* * *

"Milord," a timid voice called from at the door.

I looked towards the window. The sun was barely up. I was surprised that girl managed to wake me up so fast and early. Back in my days as a dark lord, I could sleep through a death eater raid. It caused a huge amount of problems back then, Aurors could storm our headquarters and I wouldn't have woken up. Nagini had to bite me with her impressive jaw to even make me stir a bit from my sleep. Speaking of Nagini, I really ought to find a new familiar. And where the fuck was Fawkes?

I turned towards the girl with a grin that had her blushing. Really? I was nine you perverted sick girl, an impressive nine year old but nine never less. "Set me up a bath, please."

She looked surprised for that last please but even dark lords back on earth had manners. When she didn't move, I looked inquisitively and she pointed out beside me. I found a small redheaded girl snuggling softly besides me. Oh gods, not again. Was I cursed with redheaded fan girls in both lives? I was going to get the hell out of here as soon as possible so that the girl could hopefully limit her hero worship towards me. I extracted myself as softly as I could form her surprisingly strong grip and carried her to the maid.

I turned back stretching and looking out of the window. It was a filthy hovel. I felt sorry for Uncle Ned staying here, but I couldn't trust anyone other than a Stark with holding Moat Cailin. That and he asked specifically for Moat Cailin, it wasn't like I forced him to take it. I was adamant to send some ice from the far North to help preserve some of the food sent here and perhaps plant rice in the flooded ground. Huh? Ice. Perhaps I could market it here. People never really realized the need of ice until they had it. It would revolutionize meat, vegetable and fishing industry all over the world. With the proper ice houses all over the Seven Kingdoms, I could sell it for outrageous prices down South. I was going to do just that as soon I go back to Winterfell. _Perhaps even make some ice cream_. I thought excitedly. We weren't going to make any Helga Hufflepuff flavored ice cream anytime soon but I missed ice cream dearly.

I stripped from my fine robes and climbed the medieval bath with a sigh. It was okay for Moat Cailin but back in Winterfell, the hotsprings were expanded and provided clean hot water for everyone, even the peasants. I absolutely abhorred the smell and sight of dirt covered smallfolk and with the new large bathhouses all over Winterfell, everyone was bathing for free almost every day.

I finished bathing and found out furs lain out on my bed. Furs, Really? I knew I wore light clothes for the chilly weather of the north but all my clothes had warming charms applied on them. I discarded the furs and picked out a grey shirt with black pants instead of the disgusting breeches that smallfolk wore and a plain silk black robe with grey lining with our sigil on the left breast.

I walked out the castle and was surprised with the sight of a rather small party carrying fish banners. A stout broad man, with blue eyes and greying red hair wearing silver plate and mail with the signature red and blue Tully cloak on his back was leading the party. So that was Hoster Tully.

Catelyn was standing with a frown besides Uncle Ned and looking inquisitively at her father's arrival. I held back a grin, being the only one who knew why he was here as I eyed the bundle she was carrying.

Hoster got down off his horse and hugged his daughter briefly and met all his grandchildren with a fond smile.

"Father, why are you here though?" Catelyn asked.

"I can't come and meet my daughter and grandchildren?" He asked with a playful frown.

I choose that moment to make an appearance and strode imperiously towards the gathering, "No but it's generally polite to announce your arrival before you come."

Hoster looked angrily around to spot the voice who spoke until his eyes landed on me and widened, "I uh- we sent a raven, must have been lost on the way." He said awkwardly.

"I didn't have the pleasure of meeting you back at the Banefort, Lord Hoster. I am Lord Brandon Stark," I said extending my hand.

He flinched slightly as he remembered the massacre of the Iron Islands and Uncle Ned frowned as well. _Just what was wrong with him?_ "Uh yes, a most impressive victory lord stark," He stumbled.

I nodded in thanks and we stood in silence for a while until I asked again, "And the reason for gracing us with your presence here at the North, Lord Tully?"

"Perhaps we could discuss this at the feast tonight?" Catelyn suggested.

"Ah, yes of course." He replied moving inside with a last nod in my direction as I held back a grin. _I loved making people uncomfortable.\_

Uncle Ned stood back and said, "Nephew, a word if you may?"

I nodded and followed him as we walked in a companionable silence until he finally opened, "Don't you think destroying every castle and hold on the Iron Islands was wrong?"

I raised my eyebrow, "They kidnapped my cousin, your daughter." I remarked, "Last time a Stark was kidnapped you rose in a rebellion with half the continent and hundreds of thousands died."

"That was different."

"Different… how exactly?"

"There were innocent children and people in those castles." He almost yelled.

I was getting annoyed, "So were Elia Martell and her children, and the thousands of children that died because of _your_ rebellion."

His eyes flashed in rage, "That was Tywin Lannister and his mad dogs, not me."

I shrugged and said, "The point stands. Innocent people die in wars. Every Ironborn is a stain on humanity; they take pride in reaving, raping and raiding other innocent people."

"So you're just going to exterminate everyone in your way?" He said angrily, "Looking for your own Rains of Castamere?"

"Take it as you will but as long as I live and am the Lord of the North, no slight will be left unanswered," I said as I walked off towards the feast.

We arrived before Hoster Tully. The entire hall was cleaned and filled with food for our arrival. On the head table Catelyn, Robb and Sansa were already seated. I took my place at the head of the table and Uncle Ned sat beside me, stiff from our past argument.

"Is everything okay?" Catelyn asked looking between us.

I looked at Uncle Ned pointedly and he nodded.

I chatted a bit with Catelyn and Robb and suddenly frowned, "Don't you have another son, Uncle Ned? Jon was his name."

Catelyn went stiff and a sudden uncomfortable silence gripped the table. She answered, "He's down there eating with the others."

I ignored her and asked Uncle Ned with a raised eyebrow, "And why is he down not up here with the rest of his family?"

"A bastard has no place on the head table," Catelyn sniffed.

I narrowed my eyes and enjoyed her flinch, "He's a Stark regardless of his last name. Please invite him up here Uncle Ned."

Uncle Ned nodded with a soft smile, his previous anger forgotten as he motioned for Jon to come up.

Jon went to the head table looking confused. He looked like a bit like me- like a Stark, while the others looked like their Tully mother.

"Aye, you look like a Stark. Have a seat Jon." I motioned to the empty seat beside me.

"Thank you, my lord." He bowed, still rigid.

I smiled, "Call me Brandon, we're family."

I tried to diffuse the tension, including Jon in the conversation a lot and chattering incessantly until he flowed with the conversation pointedly ignoring Lady Stark's cold glare.

I could feel the gratefulness in his eyes when I treated him like his brothers. Was the kid being treated like dirt because of his father's mistake? No wonder he was so stiff and grim.

Hoster Tully entered the Hall and took his seat on the head table besides his daughter and frowned at Jon, "And who are you?"

Jon went rigid once again as he answered softly, "Jon, my lord. Jon Snow."

Hoster's eye narrowed as he spat sarcastically, "Ahh, the honorable lord Stark huge mistake."

I banged the table enough to make it shake and you could hear a needle drop in the silence that gripped the hall. "Bastard or not, he's still a Stark." I whispered softly with a dark undertone, "Watch your tongue Tully or the next time you insult my kin, Riverrun would suffer the same fate as Pyke."

I cherished his face that changed between pale white with horror to purple red with anger. I stood up and wiped my face with a cloth and thanked Uncle Ned, "Thank you for the feast, Uncle Ned. I fear we must get going though. Jon, follow me please."

Jon followed me his face still full of wonder, "Do you enjoy it here at Moat Cailin, Jon?"

He collected himself and nodded, "My father and brothers and sister are here, my Lord."

"I told you to call me Brandon, Jon." I shook my head, "Is that how Lady Stark treats you normally?"

He looked torn and nodded with a grim face.

"She's quite the petty bitch, isn't she?" I said with a grin.

His eyes widened and said in horror, "She's my lord father's wife."

I rolled my eyes, "Still a bitch. Go on, admit it. I bet you've wanted to call her that your entire life."

He shuffled nervously and nodded with a small smile, "A little bit, yeah."

I laughed and said, "What do you want to be when you grow up, Jon?"

He straightened up, "I want to become a sworn brother of the Night's Watch."

"That rapists and thieves dumpster?" I asked incredulously.

He answered indignantly, "Starks have manned the Night's Watch honorably for the past 8,000 years."

"It is a dumpster that the south sends their prisoners to when their cells are full." I said plainly.

His eyes were downcast and said, "I am a bastard, my lord. Where else could I go? At least there I would be doing something honorable and even bastards are treated respectfully."

 _What was it with Starks and throwing away their lives at that ridiculous Ice Wall? First Benjen and then Jon?_

"That's not going to happen." I said as a matter of fact. "You're coming back with me to Winterfell. Keep Benjen and I company and see the world. I'm sure I could pressure Robert in the future to legitimize you and build you a castle somewhere."

His eyes widened and he stumbled, "I-I… Thank you. But why do all that for me?"

"You're a Stark boy." I said strongly. "You'll be treated as such and deserve more. Now enough self-pitying, the next time I hear you bemoaning that you're a bastard I'm going to hit you over the head. You're going to Winterfell with me and they will all respect you because you're a Stark and you better start acting like one."

A voice interjected angrily from behind, "And you're just going to take him to Winterfell without my permission?"

I turned around to see Uncle Ned striding towards us, "Please leave us, Jon."

"He's my son." He said angrily.

"And your wife is treating him like trash and he blames himself for your mistake." I said, "He considers himself the stain on your honor. Did you know he plans to throw it all and join the Night's Watch when he grows up?"

His eyes darken slightly and he says sadly, "I try to get Catelyn to treat him like she treats the others to no avail."

"Well, back at Winterfell he would get an actual life and lose those ridiculous notions of giving away his life for manning the Wall."

He nodded and asked suspiciously, "I appreciate it, nephew. But why are you doing this?"

"Well, Ben and I travel quite frequently and there must always be a Stark at Winterfell, right?" I said amusedly.

He smiled sheepishly, "He was still young and I didn't want him running off to war, I had to make up something."

I smiled back, "I figured as much. A word of warning though, he's been promising vengeance the next time he sees you." We shared a laugh, "The real reason though is because I'd like to have a friend my age. Uncle Benjen told me that we arrived to Winterfell together. By taking him back to Winterfell, I'd have a trusted advisor that I know would never betray me."

He said sadly, "Take care of him there."

I waved him off, "The north is always loyal to the Starks, and he's going to be treated like a king there."

He nodded and called for Jon, "You're going to join your cousin and uncle at Winterfell. Is that what you want?"

He made an imitation of a house elf nodding. "Go pack your things then, the party moves at first light."

He threw himself at his father and thanked him over and over and took off to his room running as Uncle Ned chuckled

* * *

Jon couldn't believe it. He was finally on his way to Winterfell, free from Lady Stark's scathing remarks and cold glares to a place where he is accepted. The farewell was suffocating. Lady Stark was torn from being glad that Jon was leaving and being angry for the threat aimed at her father, coupled with the Sept being hit with a thunder bolt in the night and then the earth proceeded to crack and the whole bloody thing crumbled into rocks.

 _"Wrath of the Old Gods."_ Some of them whispered smugly. Most of the residents of the castle objected to it being built in the first place, and he doubted his father would build any other soon if his disappearance at the Weirwood tree for a few hours was a hint. The Septa survived however and would remain there to educate Sansa as Lady Stark dictated.

Brandon had a smug face the next day, whether from the Sept destruction or Lord Tully's stiffness and ashen face the next he didn't know.

And wasn't the tongue-lashing and threats given to Lord Tully grand. A lord paramount was being threatened because he insulted a bastard? _No, not a bastard. A Stark._ He thought proudly.

He would miss Robb and Sansa though, but he was going to family too and it wasn't as if he was going forever right?

Even the rest of the party was treating him respectfully although some of them looked highborn themselves. When he voiced that they all laughed.

"The entire north owes its new might and wealth to Lord Stark. The North was a barren land before he was born. He gave us new means of farming for ourselves that we produce as much as food as the Reach. The new mines are pouring as much gold as the westerlands and our fleet is the most powerful fleet in the Known World. Our steel is the best quality in the world and as cheap as bread. No smallfolk sleeps hungry or cold and they adore him for it. The lords are filling their coffers because of him and they almost worship him, and you're his nephew." One of the men said.

"And I'm sure that whoever disrespects you would suffer in a way that would make a Bolton cringe," another remarked as the rest nodded fearfully.

Just what kind of person was his cousin? He was almost the same age as him and he hasn't done anything worth mentioning while his cousin had numerous accomplishments. That resolved him to

As soon as he passed another cliff his eyes fell on a grand white castle that looked nothing like Moat Cailin, more like a castle fit for a king. It was absolutely huge and held a powerful presence that shook him slightly. He couldn't take his eyes off it until someone nudged him.

"Welcome to Winterfell, lad." Jory said from beside him.

 _Author Note; All characters are aged 2 years in this fic than Game of Thrones. If you spot any differences, please remember that this is a fanfiction and treat it as such._

 _Please suggest what Jon should grow up to be? If a lord, what fief should he hold?_

 _I am going to amend numbers in the previous chapters. For the record, the North has a population of almost 17-18 million and could raise and arm between 150-200 thousand levies due to their new mass steel manufacture._

 _Cover by_ _captnarrri on deviantart._

 _Looking for a beta!_

 _Lord of the Grey._


	9. Chapter 9

_Fapman; I will probably go over the earlier chapters to add a semblance of realism to the numbers and descriptions. Lord Tully refused to offer support in the rebellion before his daughters were married off to two Lord Paramounts. Therefore, he's kind of hated by the key players of the rebellion._

 _Mohammed Alzo; It's highly unlikely that Brandon is going to let anyone be the king of anything in the future. But it's still thousands of words away to tell._

 _For the rest, Thank you for you reviews and suggestions!_

* * *

 _ **Winterfell.**_

Following the Greyjoy rebellion and their subsequent destruction, I made sure to never be caught unawares again. The Westerlands had a standing army of 30,000 because they could afford it. Still, the westerlander army deployed the same ridiculous tactics of this medieval world and didn't have an inkling of professionalism. All plans go down the drain as soon as they launch and by then it's just one big melee contest.

I ordered the building of 7 large training facilities 10 miles north Winterfell. They were arranged as a square with a large empty area in the middle. A moat was dug outside each facility and all the camps were identical in layout but different in their design and names. The base was divided into 4 parts with wide main roads dividing them clearly. The north east section held the supply base. The North West section held the armory and whatever artillery that wasn't placed on the walls. The south west section held various the halls and various buildings that served day to day life. The base was placed in the epicenter of the facility with barracks in the south east section.

Each headquarter housed the General of the legion and his 8 commander, each commander was responsible for a thousand troops. The thousand troops were further divided into groups of 200 with a captain each and each captain had 5 officers that were responsible for 40 men each. To ensure a sense of uniformity in the legions and crush the morbid sense of personal glory and honor. Every soldier would burn all his personal belongings and retain a new armor that would be identical for the rest of the legion. The army had to eat together. Live in identical beds, basically establishing that he was a part of a greater thing and he didn't matter.

Any army which would be split up by stragglers at the back or soldiers trundling along at differing speeds would be vulnerable to attack, thus the 8,000 troops in each legion would be trained to march in 200 units and do physical exercises including; running, long and high jumping and carrying heavy packs.

Next in line, after the training for marching and fitness, came the training of handling weapons. For this they primarily used wickerwork shields and wooden swords. Both the shields and the swords were made to standards which made them twice as heavy as the original weapons.

The dummy weapons were at first employed against heavy wooden stakes, about six foot high, rather than against fellow soldiers. Against these wooden stakes the soldier trained the various moves, strikes and counter-strikes with the sword.

After each soldier has perfected the sword, they moved on to train with spears of different sizes. All the training weapons were twice the size of the real weapon to increase endurance. Each soldier had a personal armor, javelin, bastard sword a dagger and a 20 ft. long pike that was their responsibility and they were punished quite heavily if anything happened to it.

They were drilled on the Macedonian Phalanx, the Testudo, and the Wedge formations relentlessly until they could drill half asleep without breaking formation.

Each of the legions had personal builders, cooks, smiths and carpenters that were enlisted in the camp for the entire period of training and also relentlessly drilled alongside the soldiers to set up cannons, siege weapons and camp.

The seven legions were called **The Blizzards** , **The Guardians of the North, Winter Troops, The Knights of Walpurgis, The War hammers, The Northern Wraiths** and my pride and joy and the best of the seven legions, **the Death Eaters.**

5 of the bases held almost 9,000 – around 8,000 soldiers and +/- 1,000 builders, cooks, smiths and generally non-military officers. The sixth base contained only 5,000 cavalry, and the Death Eaters had 1,500 soldiers dedicated to infiltrating bases and cities, guerilla warfare and generally harassing other enemies.

Each base had loyalty and performance enchantment wards, poured nutrients and weak loyalty and dedication potions in their food to make sure the soldiers were fit as soon as possible and completely loyal to me. They were paid thrice as much as any other smallfolk earned in any part of the North and had to be in service for 15 years. I had established a military court system, where the soldiers are punished by their commanders and punishments were quite harsh. Each legion had to serve on the war manning all the castles alternatingly and serve as a sellsword company in Essos to provide money and to teach them the harshness of the winter in the True North and the hotness of Essos and Dorne.

In peace times the base was completely enclosed and troops were allowed outside for a week every 3 months and 3 weeks every year to build a bond between the soldiers. They were paid twice as much as smallfolk and consisted mostly of young men, bastards and third and fourth sons.

Jon was ensnared with the military and I had to once again deter him from signing up at 10 and instead delegated some lordly duties to him as to make him feel a bit welcomed. Uncle Ben would arrive around the middle of next year, so it was just me and him for now. We sparred frequently and I was impressed to be honest, the boy was born to wield a sword. I added nutrients and reaction enhancing potions to his diet to perfect his physique and reaction time, and personally drilled him on different forms relentlessly, which he definitely appreciated. I was building up my own little killing machine with absolute loyalty.

 _ **292 AC, Azkaban, The North.**_

I was heading towards the newly established city under Ramsgate. It was a made of scattered small island and was already growing to become one of the biggest cities in the North due to it being the main harbor in the east. It held a queer similarity to Braavos, including the slight chilliness of the weather.

Already bridges were all over the isles linking them together, with settlements and buildings built all over them. It was mainly a trading coastal city so different stalls and areas of the city were established to sell wares and trade different merchandise. A Railroad was established in the last isle which was directly connected to mainland. The castle was almost finished; I was going to give it to Uncle Benjen as soon as he returns so that he can be the new Sealord of Azkaban. The isles were like Azkaban in its chilly foggy weather. I searched all over Westeros for dementors or heliopaths but sadly failed, so I had settled with naming it Azkaban instead in memory of one of the greatest magical fortresses ever built.

The real reason I was here though, was the opening of the Iron Bank of the North. Lords and Ladies from all over Westeros were invited and most of them showed up. The king couldn't bother to show up however, the Hand of the King managed to escape his duties for a while and arrive.

Tywin Lannister ofcourse had to make an arrival and see if he could snag himself a seat on the council but fortunately, only men of the North were allowed membership. Other notable appearances were Mace Tyrell and his mother from the Reach, Oberyn Martell from Dorne, all the North's Lords and other various minor lords. Hoster Tully showed up as well, I truly didn't expect him to be here after my earlier disrespect last year; it must've been too good of an opportunity to miss though.

A large amount of representatives from the Iron Bank arrived as well. The real staff has arrived almost a month ago and has already set-up everything. This was purely ceremonial.

After the small feast in the main room of the bank was finished I stood up and addressed the crowd, "Lords and Ladies of Westeros, Distinguished Magisters and Lords of Essos, It gives me great pleasure to extend welcome you in the first branch of the Iron Bank in Westeros. It is an opportune time to close gaps between Essos and Westeros and strive to build a better world together."

I waited for the applause to end and continued, "No matter how much we can do by ourselves on either our continents, whether it is through trade or development, it is never enough. In a spirit of true cooperation, we in the north are proud to present the first Essosi-cultured city in Westeros and the biggest trading center in the world, which would help link our continents even further."

The applause grew once more as I sat down besides the Iron Bank representatives and eventually died down to chattering between the lords and Essosi representatives.

It was grand, I spared no expense and went all out in providing for the opening and had to turn away a number of marriage offers. The way people bartered away their daughters in exchange for gold and prestige disgusted me. I saw Mace Tyrell approaching me and held back a sigh, "Lord Tyrell, a pleasure to have you in the North."

"The pleasure is all mine," The man said jovially, "The North has truly changed a lot in the short amount of time you've been running it."

"Thank you," I answered succinctly

"And the amount of steel and those wondrous railroads, wherever did you get all that steel? It must have cost a fortune." The man continued without hearing me. "We were going to offer to host the Iron Bank in Highgarden of course but you managed to snag the opportunity."

I raised an eyebrow, "Were you really?"

"Oh- Oh yes of cour-" "Do shut up Mace, the longer you speak the longer Lord Stark's opinion go further down." His mother interjected from the sideline

"Lady Olenna, a pleasure to have you here." I said taking her hand and kissing her knuckles.

"I'm sure it is. Mace, why don't you go check on Garlan over there, he was looking for you."

Mace fumbled at being addressed, "Did he now? I apologize, Lord Stark I have to go check on my son." He sighed, "Nothing seems to work in the Reach or in my family without my personal input. I'm sure you understand everything about the burdens of being a lord, eh?"

"Yes, of course." I said with a small smile as the man patted my shoulder heavily.

Olenna waited until Mace was out of eyesight and said, "You're not quite how I imagined."

"And how did you imagine me?" I said, not looking at her.

"I expected an ugly little boy with a book in his nose. Instead I find a rude young man who doesn't look all smart like the stories said he was."

"If it were stories that mattered, I would've expected your son to be a valiant veteran of war, basically another Robert Baratheon."

She waved me off and said, "Mace is as an oaf who has competent lords under him that do all the fighting. He's convinced that by being the only undefeated lord of the rebellion that he's a war hero now. Whereas Randyl Tarly was responsible for the victory and all Mace did was feast in front Stormend's"

"I'd love to hear about your son's accomplishments all day but I'm sure you came here for a reason."

She raised an eyebrow, "I haven't even reached the story of how my husband Luthor fell off a cliff. You're no fun at all."

I smiled, "As your son said, lordly burdens leave me no time for fun."

She snorted, "Of course it does. Now, how did you get the Iron Bank to build a branch in the North?"

I looked at her amusedly, "Annoyed that the Reach couldn't broker an agreement with the Iron Bank are you?"

"Westrosi kings and lords have been trying to get the Iron Bank to establish a branch at their kingdoms for years and failed. I doubt that they would suddenly agree to do it with Mace."

I hummed noncommittally, "Yet, they agreed to establish a branch here in the North."

"That they did, in under a decade you managed to make the North in to the biggest trading center of the world, the richest kingdom of Westeros and self-sufficient in terms of food and meat." She narrowed her eyes, "How exactly did you manage to do that?"

I blinked, "You're not really expecting me to answer, are you?"

"Not really, but it was worth a try."

"Perhaps it was. Good day, lady Olenna." I raised my glass and walked away.

"Lord Stark. I'm Lord Paxter Redwyne." A burly man said extending his hand, " A marvelous invention those cannons of yours, it would be sung by bards for decades to come. Why my own victory against the Iron fleet at Fair Isle was…."

 _"_ Excuse me Lord Redwyne, I have to go check on my cousin" I interrupted him and walked away, not waiting for him to reply.

Jon looked distinctly uncomfortable in the party, trying to look confident as he could and failing miserably. His face brightened when he saw me approaching and I smiled reassuring him, "Don't worry, it gets less boring by time and you learn to just go on with the flow."

He nodded and said, "It's just that I've never been in something like this. Even in the past, Lady Stark would make sure that I'm out of sight whenever we would have a small feast or guests."

"And now you're being paraded around as a lord. You're a Stark, and it should've always been like this." I shrugged and continued," Legend says that a few decades ago, the lord of the north at this time, Lord Brandon once called a wildling named Bael a coward. To take revenge of this affront and prove his courage, Bael climbed the Wall, took the kingsroad and entered Winterfell. There, he sang until midnight for the lord. Impressed by his skills as a singer, Lord Stark asked him what he wanted as a reward, and Bael only asked for the most beautiful flower blooming in Winterfell's gardens. As the blue winter rose were just blooming, Brandon Stark accepted to offer him one. But the following morning, the single, virgin daughter of the lord had disappeared, and in her bed was the blue winter rose.

Lord Brandon sent the members of the Night's Watch looking for them beyond the Wall, but neither Bael nor the girl were found. Brandon took to his bed and the Stark line was on the verge of extinction, when one day the girl was back in her room, holding at her breast an infant: they had actually never left Winterfell, staying hidden in the crypts. The bastard of Bael and the daughter of Brandon eventually became the new Lord Stark of Winterfell."

Jon sat ensnared with the story and listening attentively, "Now, what does that story teach us?"

He straightened up and said, "That even a bastard can have honor and become a lord."

I spat my drink," What? No, of course not." As his face fell down I amended, "Oh you most likely are going to be lord and have as much as _honor_ " I manly-giggled _, "_ as you want in the future. But the point is that… actually the story is pretty much pointless, but it made you feel better, didn't it?"

He stared blankly at me and just walked off without saying anything.

 _Such disrespect from the youth..._

 _ **Jon Arryn's POV.**_

Jon hasn't been to the North for over 30 years, since the ending of the War of the Ninepenny Kings to be exact. The war had been a bloody business but from it, he had emerged with a lifelong friend in Rickard Stark who had later sent his own son to him for fostering. The North was always being preached as a cold barren place where savages lived by the septons but Jon knew better than listening to them, the North was a hard place to live in; the cold was almost always there even during the summers therefore, the people lived a hard life.

But in the past decade, reports varied from the North. While the spider couldn't actually provide solid information about what was the cause of all of this, one name kept popping up in all their talks. Brandon Stark.

So, filled with curiosity, I managed to leave King's Landing for a while and head north for the opening of the Iron Bank of the North, and wasn't that a surprise. For years, Lords tried to lure the Iron Bank to establish a branch in their domains to get the prestige and wealth from having the biggest bank in the world at their kingdoms. Ned's nephew must have either paid them a ridiculous amount of money to attract them north, or he gave those benefits that no one else could, both worrying prospects.

I elected to take the Kingsroad instead of taking a ship to the new isles of Azkaban to see a look of the so called developments of the northern kingdom. I was surprised that instead of some minor developments, the North has entirely changed. The lands were vast and as green as the Reach. Peasants owned steel plows and various inventions that were never seen beyond the neck, all of them wearing wool clothes of high quality and looking more like minor lords and knights than smallfolk.

As soon as we entered Northen territory we were directed to a small building that had some sort of metallic rods going through it. They called it railroads and were operated by a carriage drawn by horse. The carriage could go all day, way faster than normal than normal horse-drawn carriages and carry four times as much. I almost thought I was back at my tower at the Red Keep midway to Azkaban. The entire journey was so smooth that you could sleep through the ride.

Those bathhouses that were available in almost every town were also ingenious and a reprieve for my poor nose. There was no smell of shit anywhere, only the rugged beauty and smell of trees in the north.

Arriving at Azkaban, I thought it would be some buildings sporadically. Instead, I found buildings made of smooth walls with no sight of stones anywhere. A Large settlement with as much merchants stalls and houses as Lannisport. The harbor was made just like Braavos and the enormous trading fleet docked proudly loading their cargo.

How they managed to build this much smooth wall buildings in no time was truly baffling, I heard some foreign sailors talking about liquid rock or something like that.

That's why when I saw a boy that looked exactly like Ned in his youth walk away from another young lord, I took the opening.

He looked surprised by my appearance and smiled, "Lord Arryn, a pleasure to finally meet the man that raised my uncle."

A few ladies passed by, tittering and giggling at the young lord at which he smiled at politely which elicited more giggles.

I ignored them however, "Ahh, Young Ned. He was such a remarkable young boy at his age, much easier to deal with than Robert now."

He laughed, "It must get hard effectively running seven kingdoms."

I nodded, "Will you walk with me?"

As we walked through the different hallways, we reached a balcony and got seated comfortably, "Would you like a drink, Lord Arryn?"

"No thank you, I don't tend to drink a lot; especially your northern drinks, too strong for my liking."

"Perhaps I could interest you with some Ice tea then?"

I frowned, "I'm afraid I've never heard of that drink before."

He smiled and gestured for a servant to bring some of that drink while we chatted.

"It's remarkable the amount of wealth the North has gained in the past decade." I opened. "The tax increase is also a pleasant surprise."

He nodded, "The lands of the North are as large as the rest of the kingdoms. It took us quite a lot of money and knowledge to spare before it showed promise."

"But to this extent?" I asked,

He replied, "With the proper knowledge, anything could be possible. I had to spare hundreds of thousands of dragons to open the mines and make the steel plows you've seen on your way here. I took almost 3 years to show profit and by now it is definitely worth it, don't you agree?

The servant laid a glass cup filled with smooth, semi-solid white foam along with another cup that held my ice tea.

I raised an eyebrow, "And what is that, another northern delicacy?"

"It's called ice cream, try it please" He encouraged.

I take the first spoonful and the cream immediately melts on my taste buds. I savor the sweet taste and could feel some crunchy nuts in it. It was sweet and refreshing at the same time.

The boy looks at me with a knowing expression and gestured for me to take a sip from the drink. I had forgotten all thoughts and plans that I had regarding the new northern lords and asked excitedly, "How do you make this stuff?"

"That's a secret of the north, I'm afraid." He said smiling, "But I was hoping to arrange with you the opening of a few ice houses and a northern trading center in the crownlands."

"Your ice cream and ice tea are delicious I must admit," I wiped my mouth, "But what the hell would we do with ice?"

"Chilled drinks, constant cooling in the hot temperature of the south, cool a fever or make some ice cream," He answered with a grin, "The biggest benefit however, is preserving food and meat. By using refrigerators cooled with ice, you could preserve food for…."

 _I droned on and on about my inventions and the benefits of Ice in the south and by the end of our chat, the Hand of the King had given me his patronage for the first Ice House in the South._

 _15 years later it became a common saying that the North shits gold, the Lannisters were entirely forgotten in favor of Lord Stark._

 _ **Winterfell, The North**_

The opening festival was a booming success. Trade alliances were made with many lords and a lot of them opened accounts after seeing our impregnable vaults. The ice trading business garnered the attention of many lords and magisters after being presented with chilled drinks and ice cream. Soon ice houses would be all over Essos and Westeros and would provide us with as much gold as the mines and farmlands combined.

I sucked up to the Hand of the King as much as I could. We talked about a place on the small council in the future and I agreed. The North was now the power house of Westeros and everyone in the party knew it.

Uncle Benjen has finally returned, filling the whorehouses to the brim. He gently rebuffed me when I suggested that he becomes the Sealord of Azkaban and said he would focus on his newly found business until I reach my majority. For now, Azkaban would have to be ruled by me directly.

On a happier note, Jon managed to find 3 direwolf pups in the woods beside Winterfell, I bonded with mine immediately and named her Nagini. Uncle Ben got one and jon took the other. They would grow to be the size of horses in the future and I immediately fell in love with her. Having direwolves as companions was a great boon in the future. It was our family's sigil and it looked frighteningly cool to walk beside a large wolf.

I found Roose Bolton waiting for us when we arrived. I had delayed dealing with him as long as I could.

"Lord Bolton, thank you for arriving here as soon as possible."

He bowed his head and gestured to a boy around 13 years old, "This is Ramsay, my bastard."

The boy visibly bristled at the reminder of his status and I replied, "This is Jon Snow, my _cousin_."

Ramsay's eye widened, "You bring your uncle's bastard with you to meetings?"

Roose whispered, "Ramsay, don't make me rue the day I raped your mother."

"He's a Stark regardless of his last name, and you're a Bolton and your father's heir." I said, I still got pissed for bastards whom were reviled and ignored by their fathers. My own shitty father as Tom Riddle comes to mind.

The boy seemed to have brightened visibly at that as Bolton looked intrigued, "Perhaps we should talk inside, my lord?"

We entered inside my solar and sat around a table. After exchanging pleasantries for a while, I started, "The reason I invited you here was to determine the suitability of your son Ramsay as an heir."

He nodded faintly, "And what have you determined my lord?"

I had taken a peek inside Ramsay's mind and was surprised to see that it was arranged as torture room like Bella's. Ramsay was a genuine psychopath. He was sadistic, savage, wild, and completely capable of committing unspeakable atrocities without remorse, simply for pure amusement. I was highly intrigued with him and almost called him Bellatrix a couple of times.

I ate a piece of steak and answered, "He will remain here at Winterfell for 2 years where he will train with the Death Eaters and be educated with our Maester's."

Roose's eyes narrowed, "And why can't he be educated at the Dreadfort with me?"

"So that he can gain a better understanding of the North and our new techniques; The North has developed rapidly and while some of the Lords have adapted, others haven't. The new generation of Lords will have to be acquainted intimately with all the changes so that we remain the most powerful kingdom in the future," I lied. In truth, I wanted him here to pour loyalty potions down his throat and alter his psyche a bit; temper his sadistic tendencies and instead of torturing and committing atrocities for pure amusement and fun, he would be personal attack dog with a leash.

That and Roose was going to die as soon as possible. For now, he was content with his new found wealth and seemingly loyal to me but seeds of treachery were there and I would love to be able to rule the North without having to constantly look behind my back. Having a new generation of insanely loyal lords of the Dreadfort was also extremely beneficial.

"If he proves promise, he would be legitimized and will officially become the heir of Dreadfort," I added nonchalantly as Ramsay's eyes were wide as saucers and full of gratitude and worship.

 _Hello my sweet Bellatrix._

* * *

 _Author Note; I totally forgot about the Manderly's following the Faith of the Seven. So like any good author would, I will completely ignore it._

 _Also, for those who haven't figured it out yet, this is a ridiculously overpowered Mary-Sue crack fic. Basically any Harry Potter/ Game of thrones crossover is a Mary Sue. Inserting a character named Harry and ridiculously limiting his powers doesn't make any sense. They're wizards in a medieval world._

 _For those who complained about the sun going supernova way too early; this isn't a documentary, it's a fanfiction. Just assume that Death was being a jerk or that wizards affected the universe as whole for some sort of fuck up._

 _I'm ridiculously terrible with numbers; I'll probably go back and edit them once I've settled on a constant number but for now, assume that the North has a population of 15-20 million._

 _So far Danaerys and Arianne are in the lead, please vote if you haven't on the poll._


	10. Chapter 10

_**293 AC**_

After having to deal with everything personally in the North for almost a decade, I was finally free!

I managed to install various guilds all run by a follower of mine that took care of whatever their specialty was. I wouldn't normally trust anyone to do anything without my careful eye looking over them, but these men were the masters of their fields and completely loyal to me. I didn't need to worry about corruption or incompetence at all.

Uncle Benjen was left as the Lord of Winterfell in my absence. In truth, he had an army of Maesters to assist him in everything and would only intervene when it requires his personal attention. It was unlikely, given how efficient my followers were. His whorehouses were the best in all seven kingdoms. Whores were treated better in our brothels than with their husbands. Sanitation, anti-pregnancy and healing potions were provided to all the whores, guards were stationed everywhere to ensure they weren't abused. Uncle Benjen was also prone to disappearing for hours in one or another brothel. He was truly taking his newly found business with vigor and enthusiasm.

Nagini has grown to the size of a pony by now, while Ghost and Quicksilver –Jon and Uncle Benjen's wolves- were almost half her size. She was the Alpha of her pack and made sure that the little squirts knew it.

I also had another puppy following me around in the form of Ramsay Snow. He was actually pretty decent company. Don't get me wrong, he was a psychotic sick son of a bitch. But now he wouldn't do anything without me explicit order. He and Jon took to sparring and hanging out with each other, and found a friend in each other. They normally gave sage advice and wisdom – Well Jon did, Ramsay's solution to anything was to flay it.

That's why I had decided that the three of us were going on a trip!

We decided against going with a large party, it was too much of a hassle. It was just the three of us with enough provisions to last us a couple of weeks, we were going to have to hunt for whatever else we needed. I also ordered full armor and a sword made for my companions. I really wanted to get in the mood of a couple of medieval worthless muggles traveling around the seven kingdoms, so magic would be used scarcely.

So with everything packed and our goodbyes said, I climbed on my silver stallion, Shadowfax, and started our journey. We decided against touring the North, we lived there after all and could go any time. So we were going to take the King's road until the Crossroads Inn and head east towards the vale. As soon as we finish our tour of the mountains and visit the Eyrie, we were going to head back west down the Highroad all the way through the Riverlands to Casterly Rock. We planned on staying for a while in the westerlands and take a ship from lannisport to Old Oak in the reach. From there, we were going to pass through Highgarden, the citadel and all the way to the Arbor.

Thankfully, I had enough time to finally see my mother's family. So we would take a ship to Starfall and from there, tour the deserts of Dorne all the way to Sunspear where we would take another ship to Storm's end and from there to King's Landing –our final destination.

The trip would take almost 16-18 moons but we were young men who wanted to see the world, so no one objected.

It was also a good opportunity to place wardstones and map the castles, not that anyone needed to know that.

* * *

 _ **Palisade Village, The Vale.**_

I ducked beneath a sword and cut through the chest of the bandit, I blocked a blow from one behind and struck the sword through the throat of another. I could see Jon and Ramsay facing off three at a time and thoroughly smashing them. This was getting a bit ridiculous. The moment we left the paved and concrete roads of the North and entered the river lands we were ambushed no less than a dozen times by bandits. I regretted that I didn't put a notice-me-not charm on us but the thrill was intoxicating.

"That's all of them," Jon said as he sheathed his sword.

Ramsay stood with a maniacal grin on his face looking thoroughly exasperated and thrilled with the fight and covered with blood. I had to beat out the ridiculous psych of toying with his enemies and instead he was a more focused Bellatrix.

"Well let's go on then," I said, wiping off the blood on my sword "There's an inn down there at the village. We'll stay for the night and then we could go on our way."

Ghost and Nagini trailed behind us, scaring away any citizens of the village.

I pushed the door of the tavern and settled in a dark corner and was soon approached by a slim serving wench with dirty blonde hair. She was missing a couple of teeth and showing some cleavage. I grimaced at the sight of Ramsay looking at her lecherously, "Some fried fish with a flagon of beer for me."

She nodded and went away to get our orders as I sat listening to the different conversations around the tavern. All the talk was somewhat related to the mountain clans and their frequent raids. I could probably talk with Lord Arryn and deal with it somehow. I would need something in return of course; I didn't do charity to rich lords.

The fish was bland and excessively salty, the beer was sour and barely had a drop of alcohol in it, but I had to shrug it off and eat. I wanted the medieval experience and here I was getting it.

The door was suddenly opened by 5 newcomers carrying swords and looking around suspiciously, one of the louts raised his sword in the direction of our bloody armor and swords and screamed, "You're the ones that killed Arvlan and his gang, you bastard."

I smiled evilly and said, "Are you sure you want to do this,"

"Fuck you!" He screamed as he approached us with his sword raised.

"Nagini," I whispered in a Bolton-ish voice, "Kill."

I threw a dagger through the eye of the first approaching one while Nagini mauled the others, all which happened with Ramsay staring unblinking at the serving wench.

I tossed another chair towards the direction of the other two, giving enough time for Ghost to attack them without getting hurt.

I took another bite of the fish, "You might want to clean that up," I suggested to the shaking cook.

He nodded hesitantly and went on to do that, while the tavern wench was now looking at Jon with a worshiping gaze. Ramsay looked sullen and angry towards Jon and muttered, "Why are you the only ones that get their family sigils following them around?"

"You want to cart around a flayed man everywhere you go?" I asked,

"Why not?" He asked angrily.

I wrinkled my nose, "Can you imagine the smell?"

Jon squeaked, "It's wrong! Torrhen Stark illegalized flaying in the North 4 centuries ago."

I nodded at Jon, "That too."

Soon the atmosphere changed back into normal, as if 4 men weren't just brutally murdered in it.

"I am going to bed, see you tomorrow!"

Ramsay muttered a goodbye distractedly while flirting with another wench while Jon sat grooming Ghost in the corner.

Hopefully, the next day would be less exciting.

* * *

I woke up to the dreadful sound of birds chirping outside, I lifted my head from the pillow and managed to pull myself out of bed to another 'cheerful' day. After taking shower, I quickly got dressed in my armor and went to Ramsay and Jon's room.

I entered the room to find two beds joined together. Now as a wizard from the future I didn't have much prejudice against gays, but I really didn't think Ramsay was Jon's type. I cleared my throat and _thankfully_ found out that the sprawling shaggy black hair on the bed was the wench's not Jon's. She smiled a toothless smile, "Can I help you milord?"

"Whose 'zat?" a muffled voice came from under the furs.

"Ramsay?"

"Brandon!" Ramsay shouted with a smile getting up, with not a slightest regard towards his nudity.

I looked down, then up and sighed, "Where's Jon, Ramsay?"

He frowned, "He said he's going to find somewhere to stay for the night."

I raised an eyebrow, "All our money is with me…"

He shrugged and smiled at the wench, "Now, where were we yesterday?"

I shook my head with an amused smile and went down the stairs. "Have you seen our third companion anywhere?" I asked the cook.

"Aye, wanted another room but had no money; so I told'em to sleep in the stables."

I smiled tightly, "How thoughtful of you, please prepare a roasted duck and 3 beers for us."

He nodded as I went outside to where a shabby building stood; the smell was horrible, full of dung and flies. Thankfully, I found Jon sleeping on Ghost in the corner with his armor still on.

I nudged him gently with my foot, shaking off the flies. He remained sleeping peacefully so I kicked him swiftly in the ribs that woke both him and ghost with a yelp of pain. "what the fuck?" he grumbled sleepily "It wasn't enough you kicked me out of your room you piece of – Cousin!" he exclaimed happily "it's time to leave?"

"Yes," I answered, "Interesting sleeping arrangement."

He rubbed his stiff neck, "Well Ramsay kicked me out."

"Why didn't you wake me up?" I said frowning, "I could've rented you another room."

"I did, you threw a dagger at me."

"Oh," I said softly, "Well I'll make sure to leave you with enough money next time."

He nodded gratefully, "Let's go then."

We made our way back to the tavern. As soon as I passed through the door, I felt a sword pressing against my throat, "Now, you're all arrested for poaching and killing a knight of the Vale, lads." A gruff voice said.

 _Merlin's saggy tits._

* * *

 _ **Sky Cells, The Eyrie.**_

"My name is Jon Snow, the son of lord stark. Lady Catelyn, the lord's hand good-sister, absolutely abhors me. She – "

"Jon, if they could hear you the first sixty two times they would've answered by now." I said irritably.

He sighed softly and slid down the wall, "Well what are you going to do about this?"

"We'll wait till someone calls us for trial, assuming that they're going to give us one." I looked over to where Ramsay was sitting in a fetal position with his eyes closed tightly, "You're okay, Ramsay?"

He didn't answer, so Jon approached him frowning, "Ramsay?"

Still nothing, so he shook his shoulder slightly and Ramsay screamed in fright.

"Woah- woah calm down. What the fuck is wrong is with you?"

He breathed in and out repeatedly and shook his head and remained silent.

Jon smiled, "You're afraid of heights, aren't you?"

Ramsay just glared at him and Jon broke out laughing, "The fearless Bolton bastard is afraid of heights!"

Normally, Ramsay would've beaten anyone who called him a bastard but given our current predicament, he couldn't even move from his position.

I couldn't really blame him. The Arryns keep the only dungeon in the Seven Kingdoms where the prisoners are welcome to escape at will – by jumping to their deaths. Many prisoners, driven mad by the cold and howling wind, commit suicide rather than remain imprisoned. They are particularly infamous; they are merely shelves on the side of the mountain's sheer cliffs, left open to the cold sky.

The floor slopes slightly and the cell was miserably small; five feet away, where a wall would be in a proper dungeon, the floor ends and sky begins. Six hundred feet below is the waycastle sky.

I had no reason to worry of course, I could fly. The others were not so lucky, so we were here awaiting our judgment.

The cell door opened, revealing our lovely jailor, Mord.

Mord is a large man, slow-witted brute, who's fond of telling us how we are going to fall out of the cells to our deaths. He has small, dark eyes, rotting brown teeth and the left side of his face has a scar and has a large belly and thick, stubby-fingered hands. A delightful person, slightly quiet though.

"Come, The heir is going to judge you."

I smiled, "How lovely."

As Jon and I went towards the cell door, Ramsay stayed glued to the floor. "Come on Ramsay, we're going out of the cell.

Ramsay looked from our position at the cell door to the sky and then back and shook his head fearfully.

"Ramsay, please get up," I said exasperatedly.

Unfortunately, Mord wasn't a particularly patient man and he dragged Ramsay away from his position where Ramsay remained unmoving. I looked over at Jon and shrugged, we both moved to help Mord.

"Nonononono, please don't. I swear I'll do anything, just please don't." Ramsay muttered over and over as we literally dragged him on the floor.

"IT'S 3 FOOT TO THE BLOODY DOOR." Jon shouted.

After 5 minutes of dragging him towards the door, we finally managed to pass through the door and dropped him.

Ramsay pushed his head from his fetal position to look around, when he found that we weren't in the sky cell anymore he checked himself for any missing body parts. When he didn't find any, he stood cheerfully and said in a baffled tone, "What are you standing doing over there? Freedom is this way buddies."

Even Mord stood confused for a bit as Ramsay walked away towards the stairs.

 _Not even Bellatrix was that crazy._

* * *

 _ **The High Hall, The Eyrie.**_

Harrold Hardyng, often called Harry the Heir was a gallant handsome young man. He was the heir presumptive of Lord Jon Arryn and would ascend to rule of the Vale as "Harrold Arryn" should Lord Jon die without an heir.

He was also a dunderhead.

"You're here to answer for your crimes, do you wish to confess?" He said in an imperious voice.

I rolled my eyes, "Confess to what crimes exactly?"

"Illegal hunting in lands of the vale, without asking for permission from the lord of the vale," "You're a brat who's playing lord." I interrupted.

He glared at me and continued, "You are also tried for the killing noble knights of the Vale."

"Would you like me to do it now? Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?" I interrupted once more

Before he could offer a rebuke, Jon said in an amused voice, "Those were knights? I guess you stupid Andals name anyone a knight these days."

He gasped, "You're from the mountain clans."

I looked at him blankly, looking down at our apparel. Even the high steward was getting second ideas from the way he was looking at the boy.

"Are you fucking daft boy?" I asked.

"Well, why did you call us Andals with that tone then huh? Only the mountain clans call us andals. "

I said in a bland voice, "How astute. You truly astonish me with your gifts of deduction, gifts only mortal could possess. One can only imagine how hard it must be to be the recipient of such gifts. You're a true fucking light for humanity."

Some of the knights and lords laughed and before I could resume my tirade, the door opened and a gruff voice said, "Announcing the Lord of the Eyrie, Warden of the East and defender of the Vale, Lord Jon Arryn."

I straightened up and waited for the man to arrive.

As soon as he entered, the man took one look at me, stood gawping and shouted with spittle at Harrold, "What in the seven hells are you doing, boy?"

"Great-uncle Jon," the boy said smiling, "I was just judging that riff-raff for poaching on our lands."

He stood gawping not comprehending for a few moments, "You're judging the Warden of the North for poaching?"

"Wa-Warden of the North?" The boy squeaked questioningly.

"Yes you oaf. Ser Vardis, please release Lord Stark and his companions from their chains."

As the head of the household guard darted to release my chains first, I stood looking smugly towards the arrogant boy cherishing his paling face in my memory.

"Lord Stark, I profusely apologize for this misunderstanding." Jon said as he extended his hand.

I rubbed my sore wrists, looking directly at Harrold, "No need, Lord Arryn. I understand the follies of youth."

The boy bristled angrily and Jon replied, "He's going to be sent back to Lady Waynwood immediately, he's clearly not yet ready to assume his duties."

Harrold whined, "But Uncle Jon…"

Jon raised his hand, "No, your incompetence and brashness almost started a war. I don't know what High Steward Royce was thinking anyway." He said directing his gaze at the High Steward.

"My lord," Royce said hesitantly, "You must understand that his claims were simply too outrageous. The Lord of the North traveling alone in the Vale? Highly unusual."

I moved in to save the poor man some face, "It's alright, my lord. The High Steward was simply carrying out his duties."

Arryn nodded at me and asked, "If you don't mind me asking, what were you and your companions doing alone without guard in the Vale?"

"We've elected to take a tour in the Seven Kingdoms alone and leave the matters of the North in the hands of Uncle Benjen for a while."

"Ahh, the enthusiasm and arrogance of being young." Jon said with a smile.

I smiled back, "If you don't mind, I would like to send a letter by your ravens to Winterfell and go on our way."

"Of course, but you should stay here for a small feast at the very least."

I looked at Jon and Ramsay who shrugged, "We would be delighted to,"

* * *

"Once again, I must apologize for the terrible inconvenience earlier today." Nestor Royce said for the billionth time. "You must understand the hardships of ruling and being the heir of a kingdom at such a young age."

I smiled, "I'm afraid I don't, I've been effectively running the North ever since I took my chains from the citadel at five."

Harrold stabbed the venison on his plate and stubbornly refused to look up.

"Yes well…" Royce stood awkwardly gesturing with his hands.

A hoarse, smoky voice, "Oh come off it, Royce. No harm done."

I looked towards the direction of the voice where I found a tall lean man with grey hair, bushy eyebrows and bright blue eyes staring at me.

I looked inquisitively for a while until my eyes landed on the sigil on his armor; it had the traditional Tully colors of blue and red, but with a black fish instead of a white trout.

"Ser Brynden Tully," he said extending his hand.

"Ahh, Lord Tully's brother."

He raised his eyebrow, "You've met my brother?"

"Indeed, I had the pleasure o…" Ramsay interjected, "He thinks he's a cunt."

The voices at the table fell to a hush as I glared angrily at Ramsay. Brynden said with narrowed eyes, "Any particular reason?"

"He insulted me because I'm a bastard, so Cousin Brandon threatened him," Jon said happily looking at me. _Were they always this stupid?_

I looked back at Brynden and couldn't discern any emotion from his face so I shrugged.

I didn't expect him to boom out laughing, but he did and the tension thankfully diffused, "Aye, he could be a bit of an uptight prick."

"Any particular reason?" I asked.

"Cheeky," He harrumphed, "Bethany-fucking-Redwyne."

The knights and lords at the table rolled their eyes while Brynden continued, "Hoster wanted to marry me off to advance the family station," he said every word dripping with venom, "I refused, he called me the black goat of the Tully herd. I pointed out that our sigil was a fish, so I took the name "Blackfish", and took for my personal sigil the Tully emblem, but with a black trout jumping, instead of a silver trout to piss him off." He chuckled, "He still gets red in the face whenever he sees my sigil."

I laughed and asked, "Is that the reason you're here and not back at Riverrun?"

He nodded, "I'm the Knight of the Gate, the Bloody Gate."

"A great honor in the vale, being the Knight of the Gate," Jon said from behind us.

Jon asked, "Why are there too many gates in the Vale though? Isn't the Bloody Gate enough?"

"The hill tribes keep raiding us lad," One lord said with distaste, "Most of the other minor gates are to deter them from raiding."

"Perhaps you could help us with that problem," Jon said, "I heard you've dealt with the mountain clans in the North efficiently and they no longer raid or steal from any of the nearby villages."

I smiled tightly, "I would be delighted to." _I really wasn't._

 _ **Mountains of the Vale.**_

"Are you sure, you're doing this right?" I asked, tired and dirty from trekking through the mountains for the past week.

"These tribes are more vicious than your mountain tribes. By walking in the valleys and mountains, we'll hopefully attract some of them." Brynden answered.

"We've been walking for days. Perhaps we're in the wrong place." Jon said.

I heard shuffling from a nearby bush with the sound of a twig breaking, "Perhaps not."

I laid down my sword and raised my hands in surrender, "We're here for a treaty with your respected mountain clans, and we mean no harm."

"I'm Shagga, son of Dolf of the Stonecrow,"A large hairy man, with deep voice and axes in both his hands said.

I replied, "We're here to negotiate a treaty on behalf the Lords of the Vale with your clans."

He broke out in laughter, "We don't negotiate with Andals,"

"Whoever said anything about Andals?" I asked, "I'm Brandon, son of Brandon of clan Stark," laughter broke out at my name which I ignored. "We're from the North, blood of the First men runs in my veins."

The man looked intrigued and asked, "You weakling? Blood of the First Men? Bah! Kill them and take their weapons and armor."

I whispered, "Weak?"

"Aye, you think you're strong little man?" Shagga replied.

I grinned at him, "How about this then, I'll fight you and if I win, you'll agree to talks with us."

"With your fancy little armor and fancy sword of course?" He asked sarcastically.

I removed my armor and said with a predatory smile, "Oh no, we're wrestling."

* * *

"… And then, the little man carried Shagga on his shoulders and threw him to the tree." Conn said laughing.

 _As you've concluded, I won. The rest of the clan laughed and readily invited us to dinner until they gather the rest of the clans at the show of power._

Jon and Ramsay ate happily through the meat as I said, "Aye, we the blood of the First Men are tough aren't we?"

The men boomed out laughing again, "Not like those fancy weak Andals with their shining armors."

The knights of the vale bristled and looked visibly annoyed but held back from answering as we were outnumbered almost 20 to 1.

"Well since the rest of the clan leaders are finally here, we can get on with the treaty."

The men fell silent, "We in the North care for the blood of the First Men, that's why we're proposing that instead of raiding nearby villages, we could build you permanent homes in the mountains that can endure the weather and air of the mountains, teach you to farm and fish for yourselves and the Vale could provide you with whatever you can't do yourselves instead of raiding and disrupting the peace."

Some of the clansmen nodded in acceptance while one said, "How would we know that you'll keep your words. You want us to trust the Andals?"

I asked baffled, "Whoever said anything of dealing with Andals?" as the knights looked angrily at me I continued, "You believe that every person's voice, regardless of gender, should be heard during councils. I respect that. So representatives from the North, the same ones dealing with our mountain clans, will come in your council to negotiate with you any further terms and take them to the lords of the Vale. No need to include any prissy Andals between us First Men, eh?" I said laughing.

"Aye, that sounds good. We'll be waiting for your representative, chieftain of the First Men."

I smiled at the new title and got up, "He'll be here in two weeks, I already sent them a message."

"Wait here for a second little chieftain," a dark little woman who looked more like a flat ugly boy with ears arranged as a necklace said, "Just because you beat Shagga, doesn't mean Chella doesn't want a fight too."

The clansmen roared in agreement as I sighed and took of my armor once more.

 _Fucking Jon Arryn._

* * *

 _ **At the Bloody Gate**_

"Once again, thank you so much for all you've done." Royce said.

"It was nothing."

"We hope you've enjoyed your stay at the Vale, my lord."

I replied, "Yes, the sky cells were surprisingly refreshing."

He stammered once more and Brynden said, "Just shut up Royce."

"Well lads, that's as far as we could go. Good luck on your journey,"

"Thank you, Ser Brynden," Jon said.

He waved him off, "Off you go then."

We rode back on the Highroad for a while, finally enjoying our freedom when I noticed something queer.

"This _is_ your pouch of gold, is it, Ramsay?"

He hummed.

"You're quite sure of that, are you?"

He nodded.

"Then why does it have the name "Hoory ze Hair" knitted on it?"

He froze for a moment, "That's my nickname."

We broke out laughing.

 _Ramsay, never change._

* * *

Author Note; I hope you liked this chapter.

Next chapter features the Riverlands and I have absolutely no idea on what to write.

PLEASE REVIEW AND SUGGEST IDEAS FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER.

Many thanks,

Lord of the Grey.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Harrenhall, The Riverlands.**_

"I still don't get why you're so disappointed Jon," I said.

"I thought the Ruby Ford would be… you know more." He muttered.

I rolled my eyes, "You didn't expect to find some of Rhaegar's rubies there in the ford, did you?"

He blushed and the retort died in my mouth as a black monstrous castle appeared in the distance.

"Fuck me," Ramsay said as we laid our eyes on the ruined towers of Harrenhall.

The formerly largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms – Winterfell holds that place now, was a dark, ruinous place. Named after its builder, King Harren Hoare, Harrenhall was a gigantic castle that stood amidst vast tracts of green and fertile lands. When it has stood proudly in the past, now most of the towers were bent, lumped and cracked from the melting of the stone by Aegon Targaryen Dragon's.

It was foolish; Harren thought that he could starve out Aegon's and the riverlands armies while he remained behind his safe walls, so Aegon flew over with his dragons and burned them all in their tower.

After a long, bloody history of dead lords, House Whent, originally knights sworn to Harrenhal, became lords of the castle for their part in defeating the Lothstons.

The castle was also the place where everything started for the Rebellion.

The tourney of Harrenhal, said to be the greatest tourney of its time. During the tourney's opening ceremonies, fifteen-year-old Ser Jaime Lannister was admitted into the order of the Kingsguard. Although Jaime wanted to compete in the tourney the next day, King Aerys commanded him to return to King's Landing that night to guard Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys.

However, the true tragedy sturck at the ending of the tourney; Rhaegar Targaryen was champion of the joust, defeating four knights of the Kingsguard, and in the end he chose Lyanna Stark as the new queen of love and beauty, placing a crown of blue winter roses in her lap. Angering the people of Dorne, his wife's people, and Robert Baratheon, Lyanna's betrothed.

A year later, the rebellion ended and the Targeryans lost their crowns, most dead or in exile.

All of that happened because one horny kid. I however disagreed; there was something weird in Rhaeger kidnapping Lyanna Stark.

It didn't matter right now though.

"Wanna check it from the inside?" Ramsay asked excitedly.

I looked over to the sun, "It's almost nightfall, perhaps we should head inside and request lodgings from Lady Whent."

"Fine with me," Jon shrugged. "Maybe we could climb to the top of the towers and see the view from upstairs."

Ramsay lost his excited face quickly and was replaced with a mask of horror, "Maybe we shouldn't." I calmed him down.

* * *

"Lady Whent, thank you for your hospitability," I said,

The old lady of Harrenhall nodded, "You'll be welcomed at Harrenhall as long as you stay here, my lord."

I smiled and followed the servant to my rooms.

"Thank you," I waited till all the servants were asleep and quickly got out of my room where I found Ramsay and Jon waiting with a torch.

"Ready to go?

They both nodded and we started walking through the dark corridors with only the torch light guiding us, the musty smell of rotten wood filling our nostrils, cobwebs filling the spaces behind columns. The heavy rain was rattling against the wooden roof of the barracks and buildings. The walls were broken and full of holes offering glimpses of the rest of the rooms.

A flash of lightning illuminated the tower and all I could see was the endless dark corridor with no one in sight. I rubbed my eyes from the sudden light and continued walking softly.

Jon said hesitantly, "We should go back."

"Afraid of the dark, Snow?" Ramsay said mockingly.

Jon glared at him and refused to answer.

"There's nothing in here. Are you expecting to find ghosts in her…- FUCKING HELL." Jon

A swarm of bats emerged from behind a tapestry, spooking the hell out of me.

 _Get a grip on yourself,_ I thought _. You're an ex-dark lord who has seen more horrors than a bloody dark corridor._

We found a dark elaborate room in the end of the corridor. Lady Whent stayed at the lowest level of the tower, so that wasn't her room. Intrigued we decided to enter. Stepping over that rotten threshold was like crossing into another world, one where the crumbling walls groaned around us like a dying beast, and the movement of the door rattled dust around thickly causing us to cough.

"The Mad Lady Lothston once ruled this castle, cooking children, biting the flesh of her handmaidens, bathing in their blood and serving feasts of human flesh." Ramsay said in a spooky sound in an attempt to scare Jon. "They say that Harren's soul remains here, fading away, haunting away any who dares reside in his castle. It is said that on still nights, when the air feels heavy and the moon is blotted out by the oppressive shadow of the clouds, one who listens can hear the long wails of Harren and his children burning."

"Do they really?" A raspy voice said from the darkness.

I whirled around and my eyes focused at the sight of a ghost floating through the walls. He saw me looking and his eyes narrowed, "You can see me?" The ghost looked at me. He was tall and thick shouldered, with a square jaw and wearing an elaborate crown over his head.

"I can," I said nodding.

Before the ghost could utter another word, three other ghosts appeared from the wall and screamed so loudly that my eardrums almost burst. The skin hung from their face in fleshy tatters, with remnants of armor melted with their skin.

"My children," he said sadly, "Aegon Targaryen burned us in our tower because I wouldn't bend my knee to a fucking foreigner."

"I could free you," I suggested.

"Free me? **FREE ME?** " He screamed and laughed maniacally, "No boy, this castle is my masterpiece. I will remain here for the end of time."

I shrugged and started walking away, "Whatever suits you."

A hand suddenly gripped my shoulders, stopping me from walking away. "Ramsay, what the fuck are you doi-" The rest of the words died in my mouth as Ramsay's face morphed through Harren's and his children's and other various faces I couldn't recognize and back to Harren's face.

"Whoever said anything about leaving my dear boy," Harren said with a mad glint in his eyes.

"You'll stay here with us," he said as dead bodies appeared in the darkness, walking towards us and wearing different armors with sigils of a single black bat, on a field party, Five black towers on white, surrounded by a double tressure red and black,  
a tripartite pale blue, red, and green on white and various others that he couldn't make out properly in the dark.

"Forever," Every dead body in the room said in unison.

I chuckled darkly, "I don't think, I will."

"Fiendfyre," I whispered with menacing red eyes.

As the dead bodies and ghosts were destroyed by the fire that consumed even magic, I quickly stumbled out of the room and locked it, walking away as if there wasn't contained hell fire devouring ghosts just behind me. I walked away towards my room where I hit face-first with two others.

"Awww come on, you went exploring without us?" Ramsay whined pitifully.

"Wha-What…?" I asked baffled.

"You look as if you've seen a ghost, cousin." Jon said amusedly.

"Afraid of the dark, Stark?" Ramsay said sarcastically.

"But.. you just.. what?" I muttered confusedly as I wiped my face. "No exploring." I said forcibly.

"But you said you wanted to…" "I know what I said and now I say no exploring," I interrupted him looking behind me at the door.

"Whatever," Ramsay said sullenly as we went back towards our rooms.

* * *

"Lord Stark, are you leaving already?" The old lady said kindly as we guided the horses out of the stables.

I replied, "Yes we are, my lady. I'm afraid we've imposed on your hospitality enough already."

She smiled, "It was a pleasure my dear to have guests in the castle. I usually entertain recruiters of the Night's Watch whenever they come by."

I thanked her and said, "I've noticed that you've a party of your own preparing as well. If you don't mind me asking, where are you going, my lady?"

"The harvest feast at Riverrun, all the lords and ladies of the riverlands are going to be there. A little bit early than in the North, I know." She said.

"Very well then, good luck on your journey to Riverrun my lady. Perhaps, I will see you there."

"Perhaps," she nodded, "Safe travels my dears."

Ramsay and Jon thanked her and rode beside me as we exited the castle.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" I said with a grin.

"Lady Sheila must have been one hell of a hottie when she was young." Ramsay said.

"Exact… What the fuck Ramsay? No!" I said.

He frowned, "Well, I suppose she's still got it if you like them a bit hairy…"

I resisted the urge to palm my face and just rode on.

* * *

 _ **Isle of Faces, The Riverlands.**_

The harvest feast was almost 2 weeks for now and we had the advantage of being lone riders and we could reach Riverrun in almost a week.

So we decided to go to the historical place where the pact between the First Men and Children of Forest took place. It was called the Isle of Faces So that the gods could bear witness to the historic agreement, all the trees on the island would have a face carved into it and the order of the green men would be created to guard them

It was said that green men lived there and were entrusted with the Isle Faces. Some tales said they rode elks and had antlers. So filled with intrigue, we set off with a small boat towards the Isle of Faces.

"You think you'll find wizards there?" Jon asked.

I scoffed, "Doubtful, but I just want to see how the Andals failed to destroy the so-called green men."

We rowed the boat and the fog continued to increase as we approached the isle. I could feel us passing through a ward, judging our intent, and as soon as we passed it was like a haze was lifted off my senses. Everything was so… _clear_. I could feel the magic thrumming through and beating off the isle in a consistent drum-like rhythm.

The isle shimmered slightly and I could feel an illusion covering it. I probed it slightly and… BAM! The illusion shattered with an audible crash deafening us momentarily. Jon dropped the oars in surprise.

"By the Old Gods…" Jon said in surprise.

I could only nod in acceptance. In front of us was one of the grandest structures I've ever seen. It was almost 500 feet tall, made of entirely green glass and emeralds. It was thick and asymmetrical, as if it was emerald quartz dragged from the earth and _engorgio'ed_ several times.

We landed on the shore and started walking attentively, looking for any sign of the fabled green men. I knew they weren't there however; there was nothing here but animals and trees.

We found some bodies in the distance and approached them softly. They were quite dead. Their skin had a green hue and was covered with twigs and branches and leaves. I shook the image of Professor Sprout that popped in my head and took a closer look.

Proud antlers were sprouted out of their skulls and most of their bodies were decaying and surrounded by roots. They must have died with the destruction of the Children. I felt a sense of melancholy at that- _3 Magical species dead because of me,_ and quickly regained my bearings. I was a _fucking dark lord for the first century of my life not some PETA pussy._

"They're all dead." Ramsay said without any sadness in his voice.

"How astute of you," I muttered sarcastically

He just shrugged and continued walking. We passed through tens of dead green men on our way that all look like they collapsed mid-day, which they probably did. We reached the emerald construct and found a wall with engraving of a straight vertical line with a circle surrounding it and a triangle enclosing them. _'Fuck me'_

"That's it?" Jon asked.

I looked at him with annoyance and pressed my hands to the symbol and felt a light prick. The moment my blood made contact with the engraving the whole construct began to melt to the ground. I had no idea what the people in Harrenhall and the surrounding lands saw and I was beyond caring right now. The emerald was falling and melting as if it was snow and after everything was gone, only a pedestal remained in place. I approached the pedestal with anticipation and excitement only to find a piece of parchment folded on it.

"A parchment? That's what the green men and children were protecting for thousands of years?" Ramsay asked incredulously.

I shrugged and opened the parchment with curiosity, only to find something that made want to burn the bloody Isle until not even the ashes remained.

A clumsy drawing on the parchment that had a tandem bicycle with a grim reaper on the back seat and something that looked suspiciously like me in my early days in the front seat. Under the drawing were the words, 'The real treasure is friendship xoxo'.

I sighed in annoyance and crumbled the piece of parchment and threw it as far as I could, "Let's go."

"What was written on it?" Jon whined.

"Let's **go** …" I said gritting my teeth.

"What the fuck is wrong with him, First Harrenhall and then here?" Ramsay asked.

I ignored their mutterings and jumped back on the boat staring stubbornly at the horizon as the illusion looked back down into place.

 _I really should've never come to the bloody Riverlands._

* * *

 _ **Riverrun, The Riverlands.**_

I had placed my faith that our journey would take a turn at the riverlands and were mightily disappointed. That's why I decided on annoying Hoster Tully as much as I can.

We arrived a day early and decided to camp outside the castle until next day so we would crash the feast, literally.

As soon as Jon and Ramsay were asleep I took the chance to sneak into Riverrun.

The castle was not particularly large and was constructed as a triangle. The castle is bordered on the north by the Tumblestone and on the south by the Red Fork, while on the west a third side faces a massive man-made ditch. The castle has sandstone walls which rise sheer from the water, its battlements are crenelated and have arrow loops, and its towers command the opposite shores.

I disillusioned myself and apparated inside the castle. Almost all the lords of the riverlands were in attendance and were situated inside the castle, waiting for the feast. I had to be extra careful so to not bump in anyone.

I quickly slipped through the guards and entered the main keep which was also triangular. I kept walking around aimlessly until I reached a spiral stairway that had 2 guards stationed on it. Bingo.

I climbed up and opened the door. It was Hoster's solar. Let's see what dirty secrets Hoster hided here.

I looked around the solar and couldn't find anything of importance at first glance. Everything was covered in trout and fish. What was so great about having a fish as a sigil? I flipped through the letters placed on his desk; House Mallister rising, The Brackens and Blackwoods were fighting.

Nothing interesting at all.

Was Hoster as boring as he looked? A worn looking book lied innocently in the corner of the table. I opened it and an evil grin spread on my face.

* * *

 _ **Next Day, The Feast**_

"Lord Tully," I said grinning at his discomfort. "Thank you for hosting us."

"Of course," he said smiling tightly, "May I request the reason of your visit?"

"I can't visit my uncle's goodfather?" I asked in mock hurt.

"Oh come off it, Hoster. Lord Stark is welcome in the riverlands at any time." A man with brown hair, a chiseled face and fierce blue-grey eyes said.

"Lord Mallister, I haven't seen you since the Greyjoy rebellion!" I greeted the man.

"Bah, as if you can call that farce a rebellion, good riddance I say."

I nodded solemnly, "They've been reaving and raiding the riverlands for too long with only you as a protection, correct?"

Lord Tully seethed in rage at the insinuation that he was doing nothing against the ironborn and Lord Mallister took notice and smirked, "Aye, Seagard was the only thing stopping the iron shit from taking all over the riverlands."

"How dreadful…" Ramsey said, barely doing an effort to sound solemn.

"Perhaps we should start the harvest feast now?" Lord Drarry said.

Hoster stumbled a bit from the reminder, "Ahh, yes of course."

We took a seat in the corner along with other guests of non-importance. Hoster seemed trying to hide us.

"So, Lord Stark, what brings you to the riverlands?" Jason Mallister said as he sat down with a smile.

"I've decided to tour the seven kingdoms for a while to get a look at the castles and meet with the lord paramounts."

He nodded, "Perfectly reasonable for a young lord, but I was under the impression that you and Hoster were at odds."

I smiled, "Are we really?"

"Yes well," He straightened up, "You're aware of course how the riverlands have been unstable so far, most of the lords have way too much food to sell and it's all going bad."

I just nodded silently waiting for him to get on with it, "Hoster is a good man, he tried to secure our borders but completely forgot about the internal matters."

"What are you proposing, Lord Mallister."

"Call me Jason, please." _No, I won't._ "You've heard of Edmure's tragic death last year, correct?"

"He drowned because he was trying to kiss the moon's reflection… That's not tragic, that's stupid." Ramsay said.

"And you are?" Jasona asked.

"My associate, Ramsay Snow. Now we were saying?" I said trying to get the attention back on me.

"Ah… yes of course, I hoped to arrange a…" "I thought we were friends." Ramsay gasped once more interrupting us.

I took deep breath, "Ramsay, not now."

"Is Jon an _associate_ as well?" He said.

I looked at him blankly, "Really? We're having this conversation now?"

"Of course you are avoiding the question. It's because I don't have a pet wolf, right?" He asked looking hurt.

I looked at him for a long moment and said in a low whisper, "If you don't shut up right now, I'm going to hurt you in ways that would make even the Red Kings of old cringe."

"Fine," he huffed.

I glared him one last time before turning my attention to Mallister, "You were saying?"

"Ermm... I was thinking that perhaps since Lord Tully's heir was now your cousin Bran, we could arrange a betrothal between him and my newborn daughter, to consolidate his power in the Riverlands."

 _Fucking medieval cunts,_ "You do realize that Bran's barely of his mother's teats?"

He laughed, "I know, Lord Stark. But the other houses are going to hog you as the head of his family for marriage alliances."

I stayed silent for a moment, "After the unfortunate demise of House Frey, Your house is the most powerful vassal of The Tully's right?"

He nodded proudly.

I realized that it was just the way things done here. Marriages were the best tools to cement alliances, and I would need to use them. The least I could do to my cousin is to allow him to build a relationship with his bride to be at least, "Very well, when your daughter is 10, she'll be fostered here in Riverrun with Bran."

He looked hesitant, "I don't think that Lord Tully would agree, my lord."

"Well he's going to have to deal with it. Either he allows the betrothal and fostering, or House Tully would go extinct." I said as matter of fact.

He smiled broadly at that, "Excellent! Thank you, my lord. I knew you would see it my way."

"Shouldn't you be the slightest bit pissed that the north is hogging all the wealth and won't buy anymore grains from you?" I asked baffled.

He smirked, "Seagard is getting 5 times the revenue it got before the rise of the North. The North wealth trickles to us as well, my lord."

I smiled back at him. _I really have to do something about this. The riverlands gaining wealth is acceptable; they're in my grasp anyway, but what about the Vale?_

 _Perhaps I should arm the mountain clans and set up another base there, definitely worth thinking about._

* * *

"Lord Tully, Thank you for your hospitality. I'm afraid we're going to have to leave though." I said remorsefully.

He tried to put on the saddest face he could but his face held giddiness that we were going to leave.

I was almost at the door when I turned abruptly, "When is Bran going to be here?"

"Ned and I agreed that he would come here on his eighth name-day." He replied.

I nodded, "I agreed to a betrothal with Lord Mallister's daughter and Bran. You boys can set up everything, I'm sure."

He looked stumped for a moment before he had a broad smile on his face, "That's an excellent idea, consolidating the Tully's rule within the Riverlands. That was very thoughtful of you, Lord Stark."

 _What_?

 _Nononono, that wasn't how this was supposed to be like._

 _He was supposed to throw a fit because I was arranging betrothals for his heir and get that nice purple color on his face once more._

I kept my face blank as he smiled gratefully, "Of course."

I made sure to steal Lord Edmyn Tully's - the first Lord Paramount of the Trident, sword on my way out.

It definitely made me feel better.

* * *

 _Author Notes;_

 _HK Target Shooter_ _; I specifically said carriages pulled by horses to avoid the problems relating to introducing steam powered engines in Westeros._

 _Next chapter is in the westerlands. It should be much longer than this one._

 _Keep reviewing!_

 _Lord of the Grey._


	12. Chapter 12

_**293 AC, The Westerlands.**_

After stealing Lord Tully's ancient sword, we made our way towards the Golden Tooth, the seat of House Lefford. It is located along the river road west of Riverrun. Although the Golden Tooth is a small castle, it was basically the westerlander version of Moat Cailin. . It is generally held that in order to attack the westerlands from the east, one must take the Golden Tooth to have a secure passage.

We passed through the Golden Tooth without an incident. Ramsay wanted to go to Castamere, but I thought it was a waste of time. It was out of our route and was in ruins anyway. I still didn't get how there were no bards singing songs about my victory and annihilation of the Iron Islands. I guess the Panic of Pyke wasn't that catchy but you have to admit that the Rains of Castamere was as lucky as my first name. Having a house called Reyne in Castamere and drowning the entire residents was fortunate. Had Tywin planned this in advance?

Anyway, we made our way to Casterly Rock without an incident. The Lannisters really managed to keep their vassals and lands in check. Fear was an excellent motivator – that's why I had changed my eyes into red when I started the whole being evil thing, and everyone feared Tywin's wrath.

The castle was truly something else. It didn't have that imposing figure of Winterfell but you could practically feel the wealth of the Lannisters from just looking at the Rock.

Casterly Rock is carved out of a great stone hill colossal rock in the sea. The Casterlys of antiquity built a ringfort on the peak, and as millenia have passed its natural defenses have been expanded with walls, gates, and watchtowers. It was said that Lannisport was founded because at first Lann the Clever's descendants couldn't all fit inside the Rock, so most of them relocated and established the new town.

I was exceedingly jealous of the height of the rock compared to Winterfell and was determined to fix that as soon as possible. The highest tower at Winterfell was barely 240 feet high and this monstrosity was almost 2100 feet high.

I could probably get away with annoying the fuck of Hoster and showing up announced but Tywin Lannister was still the second most powerful lord in westeros and was famous for holding grudges. He fucked over the Targaryens because Aerys refused to marry Rhaeger to his daughter. With the Lannister's support, the Targaryens would have most likely been able to win the rebellion.

We sent a raven from Riverrun announcing that we would arrive within 2 weeks; the minimum respectful amount of time to show up.

We passed through the Lion's Mouth, the main entry to Casterly Rock. It was wide enough for almost 20 riders to pass through. It was as if the Lannisters wanted to show you how wealthy they were the moment you entered their castle. Gold statuses and structures were all along the gate, some of them are worth more than what some houses ever had their entire lives.

"Lord Tywin," I said bowing my head slightly, "Thank you for having us in Casterly Rock."

He bowed his head and said nothing except look at my companions and introducing us, "My brother Kevan," motioning to a portly, balding old man, with short blond hair and the Lannister green eyes. "My sister Genna," introducing another fat, square woman with a broad and smooth face. "And my son, Tyrion," He said almost dismissively.

I got my first look on Tywin Lannister's bane of existence and the most famous dwarf in Westeros. He had the typical dwarf stubby legs, a jutting forehead, mismatched eyes of green and black, and a mixture of pale blond and black hair. He was wearing fine red and gold clothes and looked slightly drunk.

I smiled at each one of them politely and tried not to stare at Tyrion for too long. We were directed to our rooms and offered a tour in the Rock by Kevan Lannister.

"Thank you for guiding us, Lord Kevan. I fear we are somewhat a burden to your duties." I said as we met with the man.

"It was no inconvenience at all, Lord Stark. After all, all of us are indebted to you for returning Brightroar." He replied with a smile.

"It's your family's sword; I had to return it of course." I smiled, "Has Lord Tywin been looking for it for a long time."

He gained a faraway look, "Ever since we were children. Owning a Valyrian Steel blade is a great honor, so Tywin was adamant to have one for our house."

I nodded, "I understand the Starks also have a Valyrian Steel sword, Ice was its name, correct?"

"We have seven actually." I stated nonchalantly.

He tripped on the next step and almost fell if it wasn't for Jon supporting him. "Sev-Seven…?"

I looked at him with amusement as I nodded.

"I was unaware that your family had any other but Ice, my lord." He said skeptically.

I rolled my eyes and unsheathed my blade, "This is one of them, Fire." I said as he looked over the crimson and black sword with fascination.

"Another is with Uncle Ned and Benjen, while Ice is back at Winterfell. I fear a longsword isn't my weapon of choice." I continued.

"Do I get one?" Jon asked from the sideline.

I nodded, "As soon as you get legitimized."

He gained a gleam in his eyes and nodded.

"I'm sorry, you are?" Kevan asked.

"Jon Snow, my lord. Lord Stark's cousin." He said narrowing his eyes in defiance.

Kevan smiled kindly, "I have nothing against bastards my boy. My brother Gerion's daughter Joy Hill lives here with us."

"You have a brother named Gerion?" I asked, puzzled.

He nodded somberly, "He left on an expedition to Valyria to try and retrieve Brightroar but hasn't returned."

I changed the topic and asked, "So what is that?"

He looked in the direction I was pointing at, "That's a corridor," He said bluntly, "Through here you'll find the Hall of Heroes, where valiant Lannisters who have died are interred. It also contains the armors of Lannister of old."

"This is Lann the Clever's statue, our ancestor that is as famous as your own, Bran the Builder. It is said that he managed to trick the Casterly's by wit only and …"

 _ **The Feast**_

The feast was a generally straight forward affair. Only the Lannisters and a few other nobles that lived in the castle were in attendance. It was the dullest affair of the season. I've been to death eater meetings that were livelier. As soon as Tywin excused himself, the party started. I truly missed nightclubs. The idea of a party here was alcohol, food and silly minstrels and bards.

I had thought about introducing a school of Music and Arts to produce better quality bards and shows but couldn't bring myself to do it.

I was the Warden of the North not fucking Mace Tyrell.

I approached Tyrion as soon as I could, he was stinking from whiskey and wine but his eyes brightened as soon as he saw me coming.

A large grin found itself on my face, "A pleasure to finally meet you, Lord Tyrion."

He smiled back, "Not what most people think when meeting me, but its appreciated Lord Stark."

I sniffed, "Winterfell's Whiskey, isn't it?"

His smile broadened, "Indeed, and what a drink it is."

"There were times when wine was the only thing you could get drunk on, not what you young people keep drinking nowadays," Genna Lannister sniffed slightly.

"Regardless of your personal opinion Lady Genna, It produces an enormous amount of wealth for us. I thought Lannisters understood business?"

She rolled her eyes, "There's a difference between business and producing a dozen different drinks for drunken people of all ages."

Tyrion replied, "I believe the Maesters will call our time as the Drunken Age in their books."

I laughed, "Perhaps they will."

"I've been very interested in you, Lord Stark." Tyrion said quietly as the others scattered around.

I raised my eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate.

"A once in a lifetime genius, they say. I've read your theories and must say I'm incredibly impressed." Tyrion said.

I bowed my head, "My thanks, Lord Tyrion."

He nodded, "I've heard that Winterfell has changed entirely as well."

"You're always welcome to come see it yourself." I said.

His face suddenly loses its previous cheer.

"I don't think my father would allow it." He said bitterly.

"Why?" I asked.

He looked at me blankly, "I'm a dwarf…" At my confused stare he continued, "Do you believe the Great Lord Lannsiter would allow his disgrace of a son to go visit any of the other Great Houses?"

I snorted, "You're exaggerating, I'm sure he would allow it."

"When I was sixteen name-days I wanted to tour the Free Cities like my Uncle Gerion and Tygett had done, he charged me of the cisterns and drains at Casterly Rock instead."

I said, "Well…" "When I was eighteen, uncle Gerion went on his journey for Valyria to recover Brightroar, he forbade me to go as well." He seemed to go on and on.

"For fuck's sake just shut up." I snapped.

His face changed into anger before carefully slipping a cold mask and apologizing politely.

"Sit down, you idiot. You're almost as bad as my cousin Jon."

He still had his cold mask on and I elaborated, "He kept moaning and pitying himself for being a bastard and acting like a little bitch."

"Your point is?" He asked.

"My point is that you should stop bemoaning your state of birth and start doing something about it instead of wallowing in alcohol and whores." I snapped.

Jon said, "I was treated like shit back at Moat Cailin, before I left to Winterfell with Cousin Brandon. So let me give you an advice, never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you."

"What the hell do you know of being a dwarf?" Tyrion asked angrily.

"Dwarves and bastards aren't so different," He shrugged, "We were both ridiculed and hated for the circumstances of our birth which we had no hand in. Make your own way in your world instead of bemoaning your life at Casterly Rock."

He gains a speculative look and said to himself, "I've always wanted to go study at the Citadel."

"Come to the North, our Citadel is larger and I'll make sure your father can't find you there." I proposed.

He looks at me suspiciously, "You would defy my father just to help me? Why?"

 _Because I know how it is to have a shitty father who you want to kill._

Instead I answered, "They say that you're shrewd, educated, and calculating, but receive no credit due to your deformity. By giving you a chance, I gain a great mind in the North and you'll owe me for it."

"And a Lannister always pays his debts," He answers, "I'll do it."

I blinked, "You're not going to think on it?"

"I had my entire life to think on leaving, I'm ready." He said forcibly.

I nodded, "Very well then, Take this coin," I handed him an iron coin with a direwolf head on the back and the dark mark on the front, "and give it to any northern ship. Tell them the words "winter is coming" and they'll provide you with a place on their ship and help you reach Winterfell and the Temple."

He flipped the coin, "Thank you, Lord Stark."

"Just don't waste your life and do something useful for the North and consider your debt paid." I said flippantly.

He nodded and his face broke into a wide smile, "Perhaps I could start creating new drinks."

"Perhaps," I shrugged, "Good Luck, Lord Tyrion."

 _ **The Northern Trading Post, formerly Tarbeck Hall**_

We stayed in Casterly Rock for almost a week after the feast enjoying the Westerlands. It was time however to go on our journey.

"I hope you've enjoyed your stay at Casterly Rock." Tywin said.

"Indeed, it's a most beautiful castle." I answered.

He nodded in thanks, "You're going to the Northern Trading Post, I assume?"

"Yes, I was hoping to check on it before going to the Reach."

"It has been generating a great deal of tax for us, and already a small city is around it." He said.

"Wonderful," I smiled, "It's most efficient in storing cargo and merchandise and distributing them to the Westerlands instead of loading them straight off the ships."

He replied, "I was hoping to start a Westerlander Trading Post like it in the North."

I nodded carefully, "What do you have in mind?"

"We could start a harbor and a city in the Rills. It's mostly an empty area in the North and starting a trading post there would populate it a bit as well as providing tax for you." He proposed.

"You want to build it from scratch?" I asked skeptically.

He nodded, "It would take perhaps 3 years, but it is the only choice."

 _It would probably take less with our builders but I had no intention in providing him with cement and steel._

"That sounds acceptable," I said, "I assume the terms we've agreed on Tarbeck Hall are the same?"

He just nodded silently.

"Very well, I'll send someone to accurately mark and choose the best place to start a town there and they'll wait for your builders."

He nodded once more.

"Where is Brightroar by the way? I've noticed that you weren't carrying it." I asked.

A ghost of a smile appeared on his face, "I presented it to my son, Jaime."

Ahh, the Kingslayer. Better not mention that moniker in front of his father though.

"Very well then, we must be going now. Farewell my lord."

We kicked off and were on our way with a party of 50 Lannister soldiers to Tarbeck Hall.

The reason I chose Tarbeck Hall not Castamere was its strategic position. The Trading Post lied on a hill that had direct view of Casterly Rock and Lannisport. It was quite far, but the magically enhanced cannons could probably reach the Rock accurately. The harbor as easily accessible to land troops whenever needed and any blockade by Lannister ships were going to get destroyed quickly by cannons. It was nigh impregnable with our repairs and it would take months of siege for it to fall.

The cannons and weapons were hidden from sight of course. 500 soldiers were stationed there permanently to provide protection.

The new trading post was on the surface built as only a trade city. Merchants and bazaars and storages were all around. High walls surrounded the city and the port and the city was bustling with action. 10 trusted agents of mine ruled the city and made sure everything went without complication.

The lower empty rooms that once housed the mines however were entirely devoted to weapons. Secret tunnels were built all around the city that was 5 riders wide to allow reinforcements from land. Explosive bolts and cannons were stored downstairs as well as some of the wildfire I managed to replicate.

I met with the agents and quickly went over the ravens that were delivered to me from Winterfell, nothing out of the ordinary, thankfully. Everything was going smoothly back home. The north was a well-oiled machine that could function without input now.

"My lord, has everything been up to your standards." One of the men asked hesitantly.

I looked over the numbers. They were very well actually; revenue has almost quadrupled since the exportation of ice. But first rule as a dark lord was to never give your followers too much praise lest they get lazy.

So instead of praising the man, "They're… okay. I expect that you will build several more ice houses and expand the harbor a bit."

The man nodded quickly, "Of course, my lord."

"Now what did you want to show me?" I asked.

"Please follow me, my lord." The man said as his eyes sparked with excitement.

I followed the man to the deepest level of the building and passed through numerous corridors. If I didn't trust my followers I would've assumed he was an assassin trying to corner me.

He opened the door and led me inside.

I was almost blinded by the sight that greeted me. Diamonds and lots of them were scattered all around the mine as far as I can see. This mine was probably worth as much as Casterly Rock.

"How did the former owners miss this?" I asked the man baffled.

He straightened up, "It was extremely deep my lord, we only managed to find it because of the mages. They came here and managed to pull it from the ground to ease the mining process."

 _See what I'm talking about? Well-oiled machine._

"That's okay then, but I still don't see the reason why you brought me here…" I asked.

"Ah, of course. It's actually a plant we've managed to find, we've been keeping it here under statsis."

I nodded and followed the man.

He lifted a piece of cloth and I blinked at him and said dryly, "Congratulation, That's Cannabis."

"Well the thing is my lord is that we've managed to acquire it from a merchant from Qarth. Many nobles are paying ridiculous amounts of gold to get their hand on it."

"Westerosi nobles get high?" I asked myself.

"Very well then, send that plant back with one of the Winter Mages and order him to start planting in it in greenhouses in large quantities and I'll send them blueprints for the making and processing of tobacco and marijuana."

"Right away, my lord," He said.

 _Grains, meat, silk, ice and now tobacco and marijuana._

 _I was revolutionizing industry and slowly turning into a merchant king without even noticing it._

I need some violence to re-establish my fearsome reputation.

Tourneys, here I come.

* * *

 _AN:/ The past few visits have been mostly fillers and irrelevant to the plot. I suspect only the Reach, Dorne and King's Landing will have some plot in them. I'll try to write more but I'm knee deep in German textbooks and homework these days._


	13. Chapter 13

_**295 AC, The Reach, Highgarden.**_

It took us a week and a couple of days but thankfully, we arrived at the seat of House Tyrell with no notable incidents as the road to Highgarden was patrolled and heavily guarded.

It still looked like the silly castle it was. I don't truly fathom why they built it like that. A castle should inspire fear into the heart of your enemies first and foremost, not have them admiring its beauty. The inner rings of Highgarden were a complex of towers, courtyards, and statuary, and greenery is just as prominent inside the walls as in the fields outside. It was sickeningly green, sort of like the hanging gardens of Babylon of my own world.

I had that destroyed the moment I took control of the world.

Highgarden was the dwelling of chivalry and romance in the Seven Kingdoms, every maiden's dream.

Speaking of maidens, Jon was gawping at the vast colorful gardens and acting in a decisively un-stark manner. I nudged him as we approached the Tyrell family and he quickly schooled his features into the Stark grim face.

I noticed that even though Highgarden stood in an important crossing, it was more of a renaissance fair than a trading hub. 'What a waste of potential.'

I handed my horse to the stable boy and walked toward the Lord of Highgarden.

"I'm glad you accepted my invitation to visit Highgarden, Lord Stark." Mace said with a smile.

Wait… he invited me? I can't recall.

I smiled, "Well, I had to see for myself the beauty of the Reach, Lord Tyrell."

"This is my heir, Loras," He introduced a boy about two or three years younger than us, with brown curls and golden eyes standing proudly, "He's squiring for King Robert's Brother in the Stormlands in a few moons."

I nodded at him, "I'm sure you'll perform admirably."

His ridiculous grin never left his face.

"And my daughter, Margaery," A skinny girl, with curly brown hair, a sharp nose and a smile on her face curtseyed, "A pleasure to finally meet you, Lord Stark."

I kissed her knuckles softly, "The pleasure is all mine, my lady."

"My wife, Alerie," I kissed her knuckles as well as we moved to the most interesting family member of house Tyrell.

"And you of course know my mother, Lady Olenna Tyrell." He said hastily and tried to get us out before his mother could utter a word.

Oddly enough, Olenna was rather silent during the interaction.

I noticed them looking hesitantly and fearfully behind my back.

"Oh, right. This is Jon, my cousin and his direwolf Ghost." Jon bowed to the lord and Ghost wagged his tail.

"And this is my own direwolf, Nagini." I said as Nagini approached Mace slowly, she was now the size of a small horse- larger than even normal direwolves, with midnight black fur and bright grey eyes. She sniffed Mace for a while as he stood with fear and then licked his face in one sloppy swipe.

"Ramsay Snow, the Heir to the Dreadfort." I motioned to Ramsay.

"Shall we make our way to the great hall?" Mace asked.

I nodded and saw that they still stood in their places, "Are they going inside as well?" Loras asked with fascination.

I shook my head and whistled, "We'll leave them in the stables besides our horses."

I had to direct them to the stables myself before going to the Hall as everyone else was too scared to approach them.

"Shall we?" I asked Lord Tyrell as he nodded, looking more relaxed now that the wolves were gone.

It was an annoying walk to the Great Hall; Mace took a longer route and showed us the wonders of Highgarden babbling about the history of the castle and tapestries. If I ever hear him bragging about how the North's rugged beauty has nothing on the gardens of Highgarden once more I'll hand him over to Ramsay with a bucket and see how long until he dies from swallowing thorny flowers.

We were directed at the High table were we took our places beside Mace and began eating.

"And how is the North, Lord Stark?" Olenna asked.

I raised an eyebrow. What, no japes? "Not much has changed from the last time you've visited."

She hummed, "I hope the North can run on its own without you."

"I'm sure it will."

Before I turned back to talk to Mace she said, "And how are the finances of Winterfell."

I looked at her briefly, "It's considered rather rude to inquire about money and finances during dinner."

She shrugged and looked at me, waiting for my answer, "It's doing well. Is that all, Lady Olenna?"

"Not at all, no," She straightened up, "We tried to replicate your railroads, you know."

I sat my knife and spoon on the table and motioned at her to continue, "We initially tried using wood, it wasn't strong enough to carry the weights your rails carry. So we used iron, that too caused a fortune to make even a few feet and still wasn't as efficient as yours."

I saw where this was going and wasn't surprised. It was a wonder no one questioned where we got all the steel to build our roads.

"Then you tried to use steel and found that the cost was extraordinarily high and was a custom job because every track had to be identical and laid in pieces," I continued for her.

She smiled, "Why, that's exactly what happened."

"So will you get on with it?" I asked irritably.

"Now how exactly did Winterfell manage to finance laying thousands of feet of identical steel rails all over the north, grow their castle into the size of Harrenhall and lure the Iron Bank into their lands _almost entirely on its own without a single copper borrowed?"_

Was she a legilemens? I mean bringing up the topic needlessly to rush the thoughts into the front of my brain was the easiest way to find the answers in the mind without having to pilfer through the mind and search aimlessly.

I peeked through her thoughts and found out that no; she was just an annoying bitch who wanted to make me uncomfortable.

I looked her dead in the eye, "I have a magical stone that can turn anything into gold."

There was a certain beauty of telling the truth that was so incredible that everyone assumed you were joking.

She looked at me blankly, "How funny."

I shrugged and went back to my food, not noticing the eyes that were directed at me and kept widening with each word her grandmother said.

I looked at Mace and asked, "I was wondering why Oldtown was the biggest trading hub in the Reach while Highgarden is more beautiful and nearer?"

He stammered slightly, "Oldtown is the oldest city in all of westeros, Lord Stark."

"Still, Highgarden has an enormous amount of merchants and trade passing through it, paying a miniscule tax."

He nodded, "You must understand that Highgarden is exceptionally large, to be able to accommodate the large number of merchants and set shops here would be huge."

"Perhaps we could help you in that regard," I said carefully.

Olenna interjected, "Your house is rich, boy. But remember that House Tyrell isn't poor as well."

I sighed, "I wasn't talking about a monetary loan, Lady Olenna."

She raised an eyebrow, "You're going to throw merchants at us?"

I rolled my eyes, "No. I was going to suggest that the North takes care of building shops and trading districts. We will provide the bricks, our northern cement, labor force, builders and engineers for the building of the trading and shopping district in Highgarden."

Olenna looked surprised but she wasn't going to let it go, "I suppose this is going to be like the Northern Trading Post in the Westerlands."

"Not at all," I waved my hands, "If you're agreeable, I would like to open a Trading Center here as well to encourage trade here instead of Oldtown; Much less of a hassle and time than having to go to Oldtown. Ships can dock and transport their goods down the _Mander_ through Highgarden and all the way to King's Landing."

She narrowed her eyes, "And what do you- pardon me the north benefit from all of this."

"Faster and better trade in the Reach for my ships in the Sunset Sea, and I'm ready to build them all for a 14% cut until the cost is repaid and from then on a measly 3% tax on the profits." I replied.

She stayed silent for a moment thinking it over. Why I was talking to her again? I was supposed to be discussing this with Mace. I looked over at him and saw him glancing at his mother waiting for him answer.

"That sounds acceptable," she finally said and Mace slumped with a sigh.

I nodded and she added, "Are you're sure your builders can finish such a job at an acceptable time and cost?"

I looked at her plainly, "I built a Westerosi Braavos in a year, you tell me."

She nodded her head sharply.

Mace smiled, "For future prosperity for our kingdoms, Lord Stark."

I smiled at him and said, "I assure you that within a few years, the trade route through Highgarden to King's Landing would bring as much as gold as The Gold Road in the Westerlands."

He nodded, "It's so simple, I've thought about it before of course, but before your wondrous creations we couldn't afford such a venture without drying our coffers."

So all I have to do is calculate the value of building a trading hub in Highgarden using the old techniques and I'll get an estimate of Highgarden's wealth. _Thank you, Mace._

Olenna leaned in and whispered, "Don't think you've won this round. You're still young and are prone to mistakes. I only care for house Tyrell's interests and your little plan will benefit us."

I looked at her baffled, "What plan? Increasing trade for my ships through the West is hardly nefarious."

She narrowed her eyes at me, "You're playing from an angle that I can't see but I promise you that I'll figure it out."

I smiled at her infuriatingly, "There was another matter I wanted to discuss with you as well."

"Another way to place spies in our castles?" Olenna asked.

Wha- She thought the Trading Center was to allow spies inside? Foolish woman. I had spies in every village and city in Westeros the moment I began actively ruling.

I smiled at her, "If I wanted to place spies in Highgarden I wouldn't waste that much time and money to build a trading hub, and contrary to your belief, the world doesn't revolve around Highgarden."

She replied, "I still can't figure what you're playing at. You haven't flinched or showed any reaction when I suggested spies so that's not it, or you're a particularly good actor."

I pinched my nose, "Can we get on with a conversation without mentioning conspiracy theories?"

She continued as if I hadn't said anything, "The only other reason I can think of, is that you want to actually boost trade and wasn't lying to me."

"Trade is critical for the North's, and the realm's continuing prosperity. We all desire wealth and the only way to do that is through exchange and trade. Having money constantly pouring through both our coffers is a more binding agreement and a longer binding alliance than marriage." I explained.

She scoffed, "And how is that true exactly?"

"If the trade between the North and the Reach is beneficial to both sides, there won't be wars over silly slights and disgruntled lords. War would mean for all us lost income and gold. While a marriage is a silly non-aggression pact that would last for as long as the marriage does, creating no true value or long term income."

"How wise of you," She drawled while subtly looking at her granddaughter and back at me.

No, that's not going to happen.

I rolled my eyes once more and said, "Now, I am aware that with the new canals and farming methods in the North you have a surplus of food that you have nowhere to send."

Olenna narrowed her eyes and looked about to say something but refrained and I continued, "The North has begun to show that same problem, so with the patronage of the Iron Bank, we propose that we start directing this surplus of food towards the East using our faster ships for more favorable prices."

"They'll get the same food from where they've been getting it for the past eight thousand years. What reason would make them buy from Westeros."

I nodded, "The food in Essos is scarce and is mostly brought through trade. They don't possess the same cattle, grains and wheat that we do. Merchants sell them in small quantities which cause their prices to grow quite high. They usually have to depend on either oases or exotic food, which are only available for the rich."

She nodded carefully, "You could do start trading on your own though, the North is closer to Essos than the Reach."

"I can, but what I want to do is start new trading routes dedicated solely for providing food, to make the Essosi dependent on us. By turning our surplus east and transferring them through cooled ships that can preserve any food for as far as the Jade Sea, we would gain an enormous amount of wealth and bring Essos closer to Westeros."

It would also give me a cover to have a large number of Westerosi ships in Essos. Journeys made to Slaver's Bay and Qarth were only done sparingly due to the distance. My ships could cover it in third of the time, even less with my personal ship.

"I assume you have the papers drawn for that?" She asked.

I replied, "A representative from the Iron Bank and Winterfell will arrive here if you agree, to negotiate and sign the contract."

She nodded sharply, "Very well."

Jon sat happily in the side chattering with Loras about sword fighting and giving him some tips.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" I asked him taking a sip from my wine.

Why they even drink wine when I brought all the new drinks to Westeros, I didn't know.

He smiled and asked, "We're staying for a while here?"

I nodded and looked at him inquisitively, "Loras asked me to spar with him tomorrow, perhaps show him a thing or two."

I raised an eyebrow, "So you're teaching aspiring knights now. What are you, the new Arthur Dayne?"

He flushed, "No, but with the amount of bandits we've faced on the road, I think I've got a pretty decent idea."

I shrugged and looked over at Ramsay who was eyeing a maid with what I suspected was his lecherous grin. The maid was blushing and sneaking glances at him from time to time.

I guess the extra energy from his prior sociopathic tendencies had to go somewhere.

"How are you finding Highgarden, my lord?" A small voice asked from behind.

I blinked and turned towards Lady Margaery, "It's quite beautiful, my lady."

She nodded, "Highgarden has the most beautiful gardens in all of Westeros,"

Oh for the love of… was this a Tyrell thing? I resisted the urge to tell her that I got it the past 40 times her father mentioned it and just smiled politely.

Apparently she sensed my annoyance as she laughed and said, "I apologize, it's just one of the most notable things in Highgarden that we pride ourselves on."

Ah, sort of like my death eaters. I could understand that.

I nodded and answered briefly, "They're quite beautiful."

"If you don't mind me asking, but are you travelling alone? Shouldn't the Warden of the North be accompanied by a rather larger party…" She said eyeing my two frie… companions.

"We can't truly enjoy Westeros and the travel with a party of 500 men accompanying you. I wanted to experience what every other traveler experiences. The bandits and ambushes are just part of that." I replied.

"Isn't it unsafe though, you could be hurt," she asked in a concerned voice that was faker than Lucius.

I looked at her amused, "We can more than handle ourselves, my lady."

"Will you spar tomorrow with Loras?" She asked.

I nodded, "If the time permits, why not."

She flushed, "You must be a great warrior, my lord."

Peasents and lowly knights travel all the time all over a Westeros, what was so great about travelling on my own? Or did she think that her brother was that great?

From the way Olenna rolled her eyes, she must have thought so as well.

I just smiled politely and hoped that she would shut up,

She didn't, "Your direwolves are magnificent creatures, my lord."

I thanked her and she continued, "Aren't they dangerous creatures to have inside a castle though?"

I shook my head, "Not at all. They won't attack a fly without us ordering them."

"And if you do order them?" She asked.

I replied, "Then they'll rip a knight's head off his body in a blink of an eye."

She looked horrified, her brother Loras jumped into the conversation, "Jon tells me that they will grow as big as war horses in the future. Can you ride them?"

I nodded slightly; I had a breeding ground for direwolves back at the North for wars and battles. We had almost 50 young direwolves at the moment. "When they're fully grown and with the suitable saddle and armor, they could tear through enemy ranks almost effortlessly."

"Wicked…" He whispered.

"Can we go touch them?" Margaery said excitedly, "If it's no inconvenience to you, my lord."

 _It really was._

"Of course you can." Jon said.

* * *

 _ **Highgarden's Stables.**_

Jon walked in front of us with Ramsay and Loras chattering excitedly. Ever since he left Moat Cailin, he opened up and became quite friendly with all people. Now that he didn't get disapproving look for every action he did. None of the lords really cared that he was my uncle's bastard and if they did, none dared say a thing.

I accompanied Margaery as a proper gentleman would. She asked, "You must deeply care for your cousin, my lord."

I nodded, waiting for her to elaborate, "Taking him into Winterfell, I mean. Not many lords would've cared for their uncle's bastard in another keep."

I replied, "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives."

She giggled slightly, "And when are you planning to start a pack of your own, my lord?"

"Not too soon, I hope." I answered.

She looked at me oddly, "You're the lord of the wealthiest and largest kingdom in the Realm, some lords and heirs are already married at your age."

"They marry because they want men and gold, I have both. I doubt anyone can offer me something that I don't have." I replied.

She looked at me, "You want to marry for love then?"

I shook my head, "Not really, I just don't want to marry. Not a lady, princess, or even a wildling."

She asked, "How are you going to have heirs though?"

I shrugged, "I have an heir through Jon, Benjen, Uncle Ned and his children."

"You don't want to have children of your own?" She asked confused.

"I don't particularly care." I said moving faster.

It really didn't. If I absolutely had to, I'll marry. I prefer the single life.

"Here they are," Jon said, as Nagini and Ghost came barging out of the stables.

Margaery approached Nagini slowly, while Loras was already playing with Ghost.

Nagini sniffed her and nuzzled her cheek softly, "So soft," She whispered.

I stood bored at all the fluffy stuff going on as Margaery coddled and doted on the wolf that was thrice her size.

Nagini yipped and playfully nuzzled Margaery and looked at me and… was that a wink? I didn't even know wolves could wink.

I shook my head with amusement and walked away

* * *

Most of the castle inhabitants were gathered at the courtyard to watch the spar.

Jon and Loras were circling each other; both were wearing chainmail and using blunted swords, waiting for the other to crack and attack first.

Loras cracked first and charged forward with a swing of his sword, but Jon ducked underneath and slashed with his own.

Loras managed to evade the slash aimed at his leg but lost his footing. Jon however, chose to give him a chance to steady himself once more instead of going for the win.

Once again he swinged and slashed his sword with an impressive speed, yet Jon blocked, parried and dodged every time.

The two clashed swords and engaged in a battle of strength as they started to push against each other. Jon being the older one managed to twist his sword to the side, unbalancing Loras and causing his sword to fly to the other side of the courtyard.

He wasn't beaten yet as Loras jumped sideways in a roll and picked off his blade just barely blocking Jon's hit.

He was actually quite good. Given that he was almost 3 years younger than us he managed to keep Jon, who was one of the most natural swordsmen I've seen in this hovel, on his foot.

"Your son is a natural with a sword, Lord Tyrell." I said to Mace, not taking my eyes off the fight.

He nodded proudly, "Aye, he's going to be the greatest knight in the realm when he grows up."

I nodded, "If he keeps improving as he is, I'm sure he will."

We were interrupted from going on as Loras yelled.

Jon managed to swipe his feet off and was now holding his blunted sword at his neck.

I clapped and joined them down in the courtyard, "You're actually quite impressive." I complimented the boy.

He smiled grimly, "I still lost though."

I waved him off, "Jon couldn't beat you with the sword, so he used his body. I have no doubt that you'll manage to beat him in a year or two once you put on some height."

He nodded and Jon added, "You'll most likely always be lean though. Learn how to use that in your advantage, slip through the attacks while holding your foot in place. Your swordsmanship is amazing for your age."

The boy beamed proudly and blushed, "Thanks."

"Get up then, it's my turn." I said as I pulled him back on his feet.

* * *

 _AN; I decided to follow with the TV show and cut Willas and Garlan from the Story._

 _The Mander is one of the most important and longest rivers in Westeros, making the Reach as fertile as it is_

 _I'll try to write soon but I have my TestDAF exam on the 19_ _th_ _. If you could write me and review on ideas for further chapter in the Reach, I would highly appreciate it as it would cut time._

 _Should I include more fight scenes or is the little quantity better? I'm afraid I'm not good at them._


	14. Chapter 14

_**In case you haven't seen the previous AN, I went along the TV show and removed Willas and Garlan from the picture. In the show, Margaery was 2 years older than Loras.**_

Now onto the story.

* * *

 _ **Horn Hill, The Reach.**_

We took a stop briefly at Horn Hill, The ancestral seat of house Tarly. They were one of the Tyrells most powerful vassals. Lord Randyll Tarly has a formidable reputation as a general, and has been named the finest battlefield commander in all of the Seven Kingdoms. DuringRobert's Rebellion, he was the only royalist general to win a decisive victory over Robert Baratheon, defeating his army at the Battle of Ashford despite being outnumbered.

Had the Reach army led by Tarly engaged the rebels' army instead of sitting infront of Storm's End, the rebellion might have ended differently.

We entered the gates and were welcomed by a lean balding man with a short, grey beard.

He welcomed us briskly, "Horn Hill's hospitality is yours, Lord Stark."

"Thank you, Lord Tarly," I said as I got off my horse, "It's a pleasure to meet the finest general in the realm."

His eyes glazed over slightly, no doubt remembering his victory over Robert Baratheon when he shook his head and introduced us to his family briefly and invited us into the Hall.

The man was cold. He practically spat the name of his eldest son and just rattled off the other members of his family's names quickly without the usual vigor and ceremonial flair that Mace had.

The Feast was a dull affair with only bits of pleasantries shared between us and Lady Melessa, Lord Tarly's wife.

Samwell, the chubby kid, stammered after a while, "I've read all your theories and books in the Citadel, Lord Stark. They're truly fascinating."

I smiled at him slightly, "Thank you. You like reading?"

He glanced at his father, "Oh- A little bit, yeah."

I smiled at him and was about to reply when his brother, Dickon said with a scrunched nose, "Who cares about books, they're boring."

I nodded, "That's true for some people, but some say that a reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. There's power in words."

He still looked bored at that and asked, "Do you read books all the time like Sam? That's so boring."

I smiled down at him, "Well, I led the Northern fleet against the Ironborn when I was a little bit older than you. Is that less boring for you?"

His eyes widened in fascination, "Really?"

I nodded, "They were rebelling against the Iron Throne."

He jumped up and down in his place excitedly, "Tell me about it."

I placed my fork down and wiped my mouth and said with a grin, "There's not much to tell actually, it was quite boring."

Randyll snorted, "Boring? You annihilated the Iron Born, destroyed every castle in the Iron Islands in a week."

Melessa and Talia gasped while I replied, "You disapprove?"

"On the contrary, that was probably the best naval battle in known history." He said.

I nodded, "Our weapons definitely helped."

He replied, "You could give these cannons to any lord and they still won't be able to perform an attack with this precision and destructiveness."

Melessa said in a whisper, "Every castle… a week?"

I looked at her amusedly, "It's been almost 5 years since the rebellion, my lady. Surely you've heard."

She stammered, "I only assumed they were rumors and exaggerations… My lord husband doesn't like to speak about his battles very much."

Randyll scoffed, "It wasn't a battle. It was slaughter, ridding the seven kingdoms of a plague that was destroying our lands and people. You do your house proud, Lord Stark."

"Thank you, Lord Tarly." I said.

He looked at his eldest with disdain, "Nine and he led his fleet and troops to battle. What have you done?"

 _And here was my opening._

Samwell got flushed in the face and looked at his plate embaressedly while his mother glared at her husband, "You want your son to march to war at his age?"

"Younger than him have fought in deadlier battles. All he is good at is eating and reading poetry and books."

His wife glared at him and I cast a slight confundus at him to make him more amiable to any suggestion I say, "I am a scholar myself, Lord Tarly. Books teach a lot about strategy and warfare."

The confundus seemed to be working as he got flustered and started saying stuff about his son which he shouldn't be saying in front of guests.

When he finally finished insulting his son in every possible way and mocking him for not being able to fight, I said, "Perhaps I may be able to help you with that, Lord Tarly."

The confundus seemed to be weakening as he turned his gaze furiously at me so I reapplied it and he said, "How?"

"You've of course heard of our military training base." He nodded, "I would find a place amongst the elite soldiers of our army. He would train with people who have never lifted a sword and in a year he would be as good as any knight. In three, he would be able to hold his ground against a Kingsguard and lead an army."

He narrowed his eyes, "I've sent him to Lord Paxter once and he embarrassed our entire family."

"But he's not going to a lord, is he?" I asked, "He's going to train alongside soldiers who train all their lives in the art of war, after he is deemed efficient with weapons, he will squire with one of the captains and generals to teach him leadership."

He contemplated it and I added, "Give us 6 moons and come visit, you won't recognize him. The training is brutal and turns the softest of women to a soldier as deadly as the Unsullied."

He nodded and said to Samwell, "I've done all I've could with you in the past 12 years. Perhaps they could effectively rid you off your softness."

I smiled at him encouragingly, "Don't worry, the first few weeks are rough but you'll fall in routine soon enough. I have love for books too but we have to remember that we live in a brutal world where swords and generals lead armies, not books and Maesters."

He still looked shaken with fear and nodded slightly at me.

"If you'll just allow me to send a raven to my uncle Benjen to inform him of Samwell's arrival," I said.

"Yes, yes of course, Lord Stark. Our maester would assist you." The man said.

I replied, "I'll also send you with a stack of letters in case the raven lost its way. Take a ship to Azkaban and from there on, deliver this letter to the Railroad operator in the city. He'll provide you with fast travel to Winterfell. From there on, uncle Benjen will direct you to the Training Base with the Death Eaters."

He still looked shaken and tried to speak until he settled on nodding once more.

His wife looked at me barely holding her anger and instead settling on digging in her plate while Randyll showed the first hint of a smile I've ever seen since he met us at the gates.

I stood up and signaled to my companions to do so as well, "Thank you for the lovely meal, Lord Tarly. I'm afraid we're going to rest and leave at first light tomorrow."

He simply nodded and motioned for a servant to guide us.

As soon as the door to the Great Hall was locked behind us, shouting between the spouses ensued.

"Ehhh… Why exactly did you do that to that kid?" Ramsay asked.

I replied, "Having the best general and future lord of Horn Hill indebted and loyal to me will go a long way in the future, Ramsay."

He looked at me incredulously, "Have you seen him? I doubt he could lift a sword properly."

I nodded, "The death eaters are going to break him and mold him into the image his father wants."

He shrugged, "Whatever you say."

* * *

 _ **Oldtown, The Reach.**_

We could see the Hightower a day before we arrived at the city itself, it was almost 800 feet high. I had commissioned a statue of a 600 feet wolf to guard the entrance of Azkaban, like the Titan of Braavos. It would take some time to build it even with the assistance of my mages as I didn't want to transfigure or conjure any of the material used in the statue. By the time I arrive back at the North it should be done.

We soon reached our destination. Oldtown was a veritable labyrinth of a city, all wynds and crisscrossing alleys and narrow crookback streets. It was as big as King's landing, though it shared likeness with Azkaban the most. The city itself is stunningly beautiful; many rivers and canals crisscross its cobbled streets. It lacked King's Landing slums and was much more organized and clean.

"It looks like Azkaban," Jon said.

I nodded, "Braavos, Azkaban and Oldtown are the three most important ports in all of Westeros."

"More than King's Landing?" He asked.

"Soon we'll own the Sea, just not yet." I replied.

He laughed, "You're a tad bit ambitious for a Stark, cousin."

I looked at him blankly, "When a Stark wanted to build a wall; he made a 700 feet high, 300 mile long ice wall."

He laughed and we just carried on, riding leisurely with the sound of hoofs clanking against the cobblestone and merchants and ships bustling all around.

"Where is the Citadel?" Ramsay asked tiredly.

I turned towards him and asked, "You want to go inside the Citadel?"

He looked confused, "Well, yes why shouldn't I?"

"It's a big library." At his confused look, I elaborated, "Books, Ramsay. It's full of books."

He grumbled, "I know what a library is."

Jon asked, "And you still want to go inside?"

"Well, we're visiting every important place in Westeros aren't we?" He shrugged, "I heard it has some cool toys inside."

I shook my head in amusement, "I'll ask a maester to show you around the Citadel while I meet with the Conclave."

"You brought us here to meet a bunch of old men?" Jon asked.

"These bunch of old men rule over every maester in every keep in Westeros." I said.

His eyes widened, "The maesters spy on us?"

I shook my head, "Not all of them, but they hold a huge amount of power in the Seven Kingdoms, almost as much as the Faith."

We soon reached the complex of buildings that was the Citadel, I quickly left Jon and Ramsay with a Maester to show them around while I made my way over the bridges to the isle that held the Seneschal's Court.

I passed through the door to a hall with a stone floor and high, arched windows and reached toward the raised dais that held the gatekeeper.

"Who wishes to speak with the Seneschal?" he asked.

I raised an eyebrow, "Brandon Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount and the Warden of the North."

His knightly image fell quickly and he gushed eagerly, "Truly a pleasure, Lord Stark. My name is Emmon, my lord. I'm forged my chains in Mathematics and Engineering, my lord. Truly your theories and discoveries are amazing… my lord."

 _What the hell was wrong him?_

I shook his hands and smiled at him, "Can I meet the Seneschal now?"

He looked confused before he remembered his duties and straightened up, "Of course, my lord. They're waiting for you."

I entered through a pair of bronze doors that held engravings of buildings and astronomy on it, to a round room with a raised half-circular table that left the area in the middle empty.

I moved towards the empty are quickly and greeted the Archmaesters, they were all wearing masks and holding rods made of Valyrian Steel.

"Lord Stark," the mathematics Archmaester greeted me eagerly, "Welcome to the Citadel, you're staying here for an extended time, I hope."

I smiled apologetically, "I'm afraid not Archmaester," I said as the man deflated, "I was hoping to extend an invitation to all of you to the North however."

"We've visited the Temple once, my lord." A raspy voice pointed out.

I waved my hands, "This isn't a normal visit, archmaester. I and the rest of the Maesters and Archmaesters have made astounding discoveries and theories in all of the fields. We were hoping that you would accept our invitation for the first Conference in Westeros for men of Knowledge from all over Westeros and Essos."

The Archmaesters quickly buzzed, this was probably the most exciting thing from the time they entered the Citadel. Sharing the knowledge from all over the world in one place? Wonderful!

"When will your 'conference' be, my Lord?" One Archmaester asked.

"Everything will be prepared the sixth moon of the 297 AC, Archmaesters. We were hoping to hold a conference each two years- once in the citadel and once in the temple. But we have to first send invitations and have addresses of men of Knowledge from all over the world, and this conference will help achieve this."

"That sounds wonderful, my lord. But how are we going to cover the expense of our rather large number of maesters, acolytes and archmaesters?" A sneezy old man said.

I smiled at him, "As much as ships and wagons as needed are to be provided to any member of the citadel. It's a small price for the knowledge that will be shared and gained."

The room once more filled with excited chattering as I excused myself out- I don't think they even noticed.

I was approached by the Grandmaester on my way out, "Lord Stark, Lord Stark!"

"Grandmaester Pycelle, it's unusual to see you here instead of at King's Landing." I asked, baffled.

He waved his hands, "I had to take clear some matters up here with the Conclave, three maesters were provided to the Red Keep in my absence."

I nodded at him, "I'm sure they are unable however, to perform as efficiently as you do."

He straightened with pride, "Indeed, I have served four kings dutifully. I'm afraid they'll lack the experience and wisdom I have in dealing with the Small council."

I smiled at him, "I'm sure they will. Now was there something you needed?"

He replied, "Ah yes, I've heard that you are planning on visiting the Arbor, my lord?"

 _See? Bloody spies._

I nodded and he cringed, "I would advise against that, my lord."

I frowned and said, "Your advise is appreciated, Grandmaester. But may I ask why?"

He said, "Your recent breakthroughs and beverages have caused the wine trade in the Arbor to drop to almost tenth of its original size. House Redwyne has lost a lot of income in the past few years and may harbor a few grudges towards you."

The man must really like me if he took the time to warn me. It seems I've successfully gained the trust of the Citadel and the Maesters.

I nodded, "I've forgot that they were the biggest wine producers in Westeros. Prideful men sometimes do stupid things." I shook his hands, "Thank you for your help, Grandmaester. I shall heed your advice."

He smiled at me, "It's always a pleasure to help such a lord as intelligent and interested in the scholars such as you. I'm afraid that most of the other lords only care for war and bloodshed."

I thanked him once more and left.

I quickly met with the Jon and Ramsay just as they were walking out of the Library.

"Done already?" Jon asked.

I nodded as I continued walking.

"So, are we going to rest in an inn for the rest of the day or just book a ship to the Arbor right now?" He asked.

I shook my head, "Change of plans, we're skipping the Arbor."

He frowned and shrugged, "Never saw what was so interesting in vineyards anyway. Where are we going next then?"

I smiled at him, " _Starfall_."

* * *

 _AN;/ I just had to get this out of my system. Sorry if it seemed rushed._


	15. Chapter 15

_**Starfall, Dorne 296 AC.**_

I grimaced as Ramsay emptied his stomach's contents for the fifth time this day. It seemed that the rocking of the ship didn't agree with him.

Jon shot him a sympathetic glance and patted him on the shoulder softly, which just made him throw up again.

"We're not even using the sails," I said, rolling in my eyes.

Jon nodded, "I can't imagine he'll fare well in a ship across the narrow sea in a storm."

Ramsay turned green at the suggestion and almost puked once more but thankfully, he leaned back against the wooden bed and closed his eyes with a tired sigh.

"Come on, we're docking in a few moments." I said as I packed the book I was reading.

Having magic and just stealing knowledge from other people turned boring pretty quickly. Back in my world, I had to steal knowledge heavily in the first few years. Later in my life however, I chose to refrain unless I didn't have the time. There was something relaxing in reading a book. Now if I could only find someone to make me some decent tea, I would truly be content. No matter how much enchantments and taste-editing spells I cast on this medieval piss tea, I couldn't just get it right. Hundreds of years of knowledge and I still couldn't make a good cup of tea, I was too reliant on the small army of house elves I owned.

"It doesn't look very… Dornish." Jon said awkwardly.

I replied, "Starfall is on the far west of Dorne that it's almost a part of the Reach… with a ridiculous amount of mountains."

"Why is it called the Red Mountains though?" Ramsay asked.

I looked at him incredulously; all around us was colored red-stone and red sand.

Jon just shook his head amusedly and walked on.

"What?" Ramsay asked befuddled.

"So… How do you picture this going?" Jon asked me as we approached the gates of Starfall.

"Tears and hugs?" I muttered.

"Cold but polite?" He suggested.

"Flaying and flogging?" Ramsay suggested.

I closed my eyes and sighed tiredly.

No matter how much I'd alter his psyche whether it is subtly or a complete makeover, He just couldn't let go of his Bolton fascination and giddiness of anything Inhuman and degrading.

"No Ramsay, I don't think his uncle is going to bodily harm him in their first meeting." Jon said in complete seriousness.

"My father would…" He grumbled.

"Can we not speak of flaying and torturing inside Starfall?" I asked.

"Fine…" He said quietly.

We passed the white gates of Starfall with the Dayne Coat of arms; a white sword and falling star crossed on lilac hanging across the towers and along the walls. The castle shared similarities with the new Winterfell. While Starfall was made of white stone blocks of different hues, Winterfell was so smooth that it was practically a sculpture and shone against the sun. The white castle with its rusty red roof tiles and surrounding green landscape offered a comforting presence, while Winterfell with its pitch black gargoyles, tiles and snow-covered black towers in contrast to the grey-ish Northern hills gave a sense of amazement and fear.

It was a nice enough castle – for a children's book that is.

"Lord Stark," greeted Charlus Dayne in a bland tone, "Welcome to Starfall."

"Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Dayne," I said getting off my horse.

He stood with a bored expression on his face as we brushed off the dirt from riding in the deserts.

"Will you introduce us?" I said, motioning at the young boy standing next to him.

"This is Edric, my son." He said.

"Hello," I greeted the 9 year old.

He waved back happily, "Hello cousin."

"Will you be staying here for long, Lord Stark?"

I raised an eyebrow. That was rude.

"Just a few days, I was hoping to meet my mother's family." I said.

He nodded, "Of course, a servant will show you your rooms." He replied, walking off inside the castle.

I managed to sneak a peek inside his mind while we were talking. Apparently, he couldn't bear to be in my presence for too long. I looked too much like the Stark that killed his brother and my eyes were the same as his dead sister.

At 16 and with the enhanced growth potions, I was mostly northern in appearance. Daynes were considered Stony Dornishmen, as they didn't share the Rhoynish looks with the rest of the Dornishmen.

I was 6'3" with broad shoulders and a slightly narrower waist, black long hair that was always tied in a ponytail, high aristocratic cheek bones and a sharp angular face with hollow cheeks. My eyes were the most prominent feature however; a pair of piercing violet eyes with specks of greys that distracted people often.

It was the first time that someone felt uncomfortable by my appearance in my entire life. Well, the family reunion was clearly not going as good as I thought it would.

I felt a pair of eyes on my back, and turned to see little Edric shuffling his feet and looking as if he wanted to say something. He looked a bit like me, the cheekbones and eyes perhaps. The rest of me was all Stark.

I stood and waited for him to talk until he finally mustered enough courage, "Did- Did you really fight when you were as old as I was in the Greyjoy rebellion?" He asked.

My lips twitched, "I did."

His eyes went as wide as saucers and he gasped, "Wow! Really? Can you tell me about it? Do you have a sword? If I'm good when I'm older, I'm going to be the Sword of the Morning and wield Dawn. Maybe I can fight with you…"

As the boy continued babbling and chattering excitedly a small smile broke out on my face. Believe it or not, I liked children. Back in my days as the Dark Lord, the only child I set out to kill was Potter- or me. It was a necessity rather than cruelty. Maybe I should spend some time with my other cousins when I go back to the North.

We spent about a week more at Starfall that consisted mostly of me teaching little Edric swordsmanship and sneaking a couple spells and enchantments that's going to help him on the long run and alert me if he's in serious danger.

My uncle however, got out of his way to interact with me as little as possible. He dined with us for appearances sake but that was it. No heartfelt reunions, nothing. I thought about going to the branch seat of House Dayne but decided against it at the end. I had enough cousins and family in the North and little Eldric here. If Charlus Dayne couldn't suck it up because my appearance conflicts him, he can go to hell.

Apparently my aunt Allyria was married to Beric Dondarrion, the lord of Blackhaven. House Dondarrion was a small house sworn to Baratheon's of Storm's end. According to Edric, She was a nice lady who smiled a lot and looked a lot like my dead mother. I would have to visit her when I visit the Stormlands.

Our initial plan to just cut through the deserts of Dorne all the way to Sunspear was also off. While it sounded adventurous in the planning, everything went to the drain after a couple of days in west Dorne. I barely managed with layers upon layers of cooling charms. Jon and Ramsay however, were not as lucky. They were both nearly drenched in sweat every day and could barely manage sparring for an hour in the hot sun.

Just the thought of having to travel through the hot deserts and live off the land was enough to make them blanch with horror.

So with our goodbyes to little Edric said, we booked a cabin in a ship that was traveling from Starfall to Planky Town next to Starfall.

If Lord Charlus didn't want to be on good terms with the richest and most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms who just happened to be his nephew, it was his loss. I wasn't annoyed. Not at all. Not even mildly irritated that my mother's brother was a dick.

It was to be expected, I guess; First Morfin and Marvolo Gaunt and then Petunia Dursley and her fat whale of a son. It was all another part of the cosmic joke that was my life.

* * *

 _ **Sunspear, Dorne.**_

"Ramsay if you get side tracked one more time, I'm going to leave you here to find your way back to the Dreadfort by yourself." I snapped.

He sighed as he caressed the cheek of another whore that seemed to pop out from under the rocks and jumped at the one that had a visible bulge in his pants. "I'm sorry sweetheart, they're just jealous. We'll get settled and I'll make sure to visit you."

She nodded at him and walked off to catch another customer.

"What is wrong with you people?" He said irritably, "Can't a man have some fun?"

"You've had fun in every single brothel we passed throughout Westeros." I said gritting my teeth. "The walk from here to Sunspear should've taken 20 minutes but we've wasted almost an hour and we're not even halfway there."

He kicked the dirt childishly and grumbled angrily.

"It's not my fault that you're virgins and don't appreciate the beauty of Dornish women."

I hissed, "I'm a _what_?"

That son of bitch that fucked his way through a couple of dirty whores thought he fucked more than I did?

I was 800 years old with the body of a greek god and an endless amount of Stamina. My immortal and status as a celebrity and fame got me laid more times than Ramsay thought of flaying. I had women of all ages and nationalities throwing themselves at me to have a taste of the Harry Potter Elixir of Life.

He replied, "Well not you, but Jon."

I looked at Jon; his face was a constant red color ever since we landed. I assumed that was from the heat but looking closely it was a blush.

"Have you ever fucked a woman, Jon?" Ramsay asked.

He sputtered embarrassedly, "What! Yea- Yeah, of course. I fucked a lot of women."

"No you didn't." I said looking at him with disappointment.

He looked like he wanted to argue a bit more but one look at our faces told him that we weren't going to buy it.

"It's just. I… I don't want to father a bastard. I know what it's like; to carry your last name with shame with nothing to it. I don't want to be the reason another child has to suffer shame and ridicule. I want to make my first time mean something too, you know. Not just a whore. Maybe when I get legitimized, I could stay faithful to my wife." He said passionately and looking proud of himself at the end.

We just stared at him for a moment and we cracked out laughing. I had to lean on Ramsay to stop myself from falling on the floor.

His face blushed even harder, "What?"

I laughed for a few more moments until I could take a breath, "You do know that- I'm sorry I can't hold it," I giggled once more that made Ramsay break out in laughter once again.

He still looked annoyed and angry.

I waved my hands at him, placating him, "Look it's a very… noble of you… to not want to father bastards. But saving yourself… seriously? Just give the whore or maid or whomever you want to fuck some moon tea after the deed is done. Your wife isn't going to really care if you've fucked before or not. What she's going to care about is if you're a dead fish in bed."

Ramsay giggled once again and before I could continue Jon walked off and muttered angrily, "Whatever."

I took one look at Ramsay and broke out in giggles once more before we ran off after Jon.

"Okay guys, this is the place where our family name isn't particularly hated but it's not liked either. House Martell blames the Lannister's over Elia Martell's and her children's death more than us but they still hate us nevertheless for our role in the rebellion and Rhaeger choosing aunt Lyanna over Elia."

"They're not going to poison us, are they?" Jon said.

I nodded at him, "It's very likely." I took 2 bezoars out of my bag and handed them over, "Carry these with you on all times. They can counteract most if not every poison here. We didn't have anything to do with Elia's death but they could think of it as exacting revenge in a sick twisted way."

Ramsay looked at it, rolling it between his fingers, "What is this thing?" He asked.

"That is a bezoar, and as I previously explained it can counteract most poisons." I answered him.

"How do you know that?" Ramsay asked.

"Ramsay, I just do. Just carry it on with you at all times and shut up."

He nodded as the guards allowed us entry.

The city wasn't practically a city. It was way smaller than Wintercity in the North or Lannisport but it still was the largest settlement in Dorne. The town was mostly made up of mud and straws with shops and bazaars and homes built sporadically and with not an inkling of order. Whereas Wintercity had equally spaced streets and organized concrete buildings. The castle however was another thing entirely. It was made of two towers, The Spear tower which was the Martells emblem and the Sun Tower which was Nymeria's emblem.

We were met by a man with a lined face with thin eyebrows, black beady eyes and a sharp nose. His hair was lustrous and black and recedes from his brow into a widow's peak.

He had a smile on his face, "Welcome friends, to Sunspear."

"Prince Oberyn," I said, "A pleasure to meet you."

"Ah you've heard of me?" He said shaking my hands back.

I smiled, "Of course. Who hasn't heard of the Red Viper of Dorne."

He laughed and clapped me on my back, "Who are your companions?"

"This is my cousin, Jon Snow and my _friend_ ," I said stressing at the world while looking at Ramsay pointedly, "Ramsay Snow."

Ramsay's face broke into a smug grin as he shook Oberyn's hand.

"My brother, Prince Doran, is unfortunately at the Water Gardens today. He should be back within a week." He said.

I waved him off, "We're not here on important matters. We're just travelling throughout the Seven Kingdoms and wanted to enjoy the beauty of Dorne."

He smiled mischievously at Jon and Ramsay, "You're dying from the heat aren't you?"

They both shook their head with sweat flying from their drenched red faces quickly.

He laughed, "The climate isn't as you're used in the North, I fear?"

Ramsay looked at him incredulously, "It's probably snowing right now, in the middle of the summer."

He frowned, "I've never been north, but surely it isn't this bad? We're at the peak of Summer."

I shook my head, "It's called summer snow. We get used to it."

"You're handling it better than them, must be your mother's hot dornish blood." He remarked.

I nodded without saying a thing.

"Ah well. This is my lover and paramour, Ellaria Sand," He said introducing a woman with black hair and an eye-catching exotic flair.

I kissed her knuckles and moved on to the next young man, "Prince Trystane."

He nodded at me as I shook his hand.

"And this is my niece, Princess Arianne Martell, the heiress of Dorne." Oberyn said with amusing flair.

The princess was short at 5'2" with olive skin, large dark eyes and long, thick black hair that falls in ringlets to the middle of her back. She was buxom and was wearing a yellow silk dress that was hugging her luscious curvaceous body tightly.

As Jon kissed her knuckles, I noticed that his blush increased and he completely avoided eye contact with her. I had an amused smile and from the way Oberyn was smiling, he noticed too.

Oberyn was hugging Ellaria tightly and said, "Perhaps you should get settled first in the Spear Tower and we can have lunch together? You could meet my daughters then. "

"That would be wonderful, Prince Oberyn."

* * *

We bathed quickly. Scourgify's were great and efficient but cleaning yourself with water was more refreshing and you somehow felt cleaner. We were offered fine silks and satin to better suit the weather of Dorne.

Walking through the hallways of Sunspear, I got the impression that the entirety of Dorne-Rhoyne architecture and culture was somewhat similar to the Middle East. Domes were used frequently and Marble columns and supports as well.

"Ready?" Ramsay asked from behind me, spooking the hell out of me.

I composed myself and nodded, "Jon's room is right down that hallway. We'll pick him up and eat lunch first."

We knocked on the door and a muffled come in was shouted from inside.

Jon was standing in front of a mirror and straightening his silk tunic and adjusting his hair.

"Do you think I should tie my hair or just leave it like this?" He asked without turning.

"Does it matter?" I asked.

"Yes, it does. Now answer," he said.

"Just tie it and let's get going."

"Fine," He said with a sigh and hesitated, "Are you sure? I think letting it flow freely would look better."

"Who cares how your hair looks, now move," I snapped.

He took one last longing look at his hair and huffed on his way outside.

We walked through the marble hallways admiring the tapestries that depicted Nymeria's War and the uniting of Dorne when we were interrupted by a voice from behind us, "Ah my friends, going to the Dining Hall are you?"

I nodded, "Indeed, Prince Oberyn."

"Come on then, it's just the next hallway."

"It's rare to see a lord from the north this far south," Oberyn said.

"As I've said, we were touring the Seven Kingdoms and Dorne is part of the Seven Kingdoms." I replied to the unasked question.

"I can't say that I've toured Westeros as you have but I've mostly visited every kingdom in my childhood," He shook his head, "I haven't had the chance to see the North in depth I'm afraid, only glimpses from the Iron Bank opening."

"You're welcome at Winterfell at any time, Prince Oberyn."

"I may take you on that offer in that future," He said as he opened a set of beige doors, "However, now is the time for food."

I smiled at him and walked inside patting my bezoar in assurance, I couldn't unfortunately finish the rest of the invulnerability rituals until I was 21. I could alter my physique to better suit my needs but it would render the ritual useless.

"These are my daughters," He said with flourish.

"My eldest, Obara," A big-boned, long legged woman with rat-brown hair nodded at us with a scowl.

"Nymeria," He said motioning to the olive skinned beauty with dark eyes and high cheekbones smiled and curtsied at us.

"And the sweet Tyene," He said motioning at the pale blond girl with blue eyes that looked as old as us smiled at us and curtsied as well.

"You already know Arianne and Ellaria. I'm afraid the rest of my daughters are at Lord Uller, their grandfather." He said.

We smiled at them, "You have a beautiful family, Prince Oberyn."

He smiled at me, "Thank you. Now, food!" He said clapping his hands as servants filled the room carrying silver plates and placing them on the table.

Everything from ribs roasted in a crust of garlic and herbs to ducks and lemons and a roasted snake was on the table and was so heavily spiced that I could taste it just from its smell.

I dove into the food eating without a care in the world. I actually liked the spices and exotic food. It couldn't be grown at the North cold climate. I was a wizard and I will not be stopped by silly stuff such as our subarctic climate.

Ramsay was eating without a care in the world as well. Jon however wasn't as lucky.

His face was so red and every bite he drank almost an entire goblet of wine to cool his burning tongue. Everyone was amused and I was almost going to hit him with a cooling charm to ease his suffering when Princess Arianne, unexpectedly, intervened.

She laughed melodiously, "You shouldn't drink after every bite, Jon. You have to savor each bite and eat it slowly. Here like this, "She took a piece of lamb on her fork and guided it to his mouth.

Jon meanwhile was looking even redder and I wasn't sure that it was just from the spices. He opened his mouth and ate the lamb slowly while looking anywhere but at Arianne.

He chewed slowly and swallowed and nodded appreciatively, "Thank you, Princess."

She smiled at him," Please, call me Arianne."

He flushed even more and nodded quickly which I thought wasn't even possible. I've tortured people who weren't that red.

Luckily, Prince Oberyn was engaged with his lover and snogging her quite inappropriately at the dinner table.

I cleared my throat, "When is Prince Doran going to be here?"

Oberyn looked startled and kissed his lover one last time, "We sent him a raven and he said he should be here tomorrow from the Water Gardens."

I nodded at him.

"In the meantime, perhaps we can show you around Sunspear," Nymeria said excitedly.

Obara looked like she wanted nothing to do with us while Tyene looked as cheerful as her sister.

"We'd love to," I said with a smile.

* * *

"This is the Stranger Garden, the most dangerous part in Sunspear," Nymeria said, guiding us through the rocks into an old temple that stood alone with no one living nearby.

"Why is it called that?" Ramsay asked.

As soon as we passed the temple's door it was clear why it was called that.

Cobras, Black Mambas, Pythons, Anacondas and a hundred more species of snakes of different colors were writhing all over the ground and the broken columns.

It was beautiful, just like my mother's old home.

Jon however, disagreed.

"Fuck… Fuckfuckfuckfuck," He kept muttering while walking backwards so fast that he almost slipped and crashed.

I ignored him however and walked inside with the Sand Snakes and the Dornish Princess into the podium that overlooked the courtyard that was full of snakes.

"Legend says that Queen Aliandra Martell walked end to end through it barefoot to win over the Dornish in a rebellion some centuries ago," Arianne said.

"You do realize that some snakes are surrounding us and some are extremely poisonous." I remarked nonchalantly.

She waved her hands dismissively, "We carry antidotes on us at all times. Don't worry."

"Think you can walk barefoot all the way to the end?" Ramsay asked amusedly.

I nodded, "Most likely."

They all looked at me in shock until Ramsay laughed, "I sincerely doubt that."

I broke my gaze off the snakes and looked at him, "Want to bet on it?"

He looked incredulous for a moment and nodded, "If you get bitten, I get to cart behind us a flayed man."

I rolled my eyes, "And if I pass through it without a scratch in nothing but my breeches, you go celibate for 6 moons."

His eyes almost fell out of their sockets until he regained his senses and smiled, "Deal," He shook my hand.

I began to take off my shoes and tunic when I was interrupted, "Are you out of your mind," Tyene screamed.

I looked at her with a raised eyebrow, "You can't possibly be serious about this!" she said.

I frowned at her, "Why not?"

She looked at me disbelievingly, "You're going to die! There is no way any antidote can save you if a few of them bite you at the same time."

I rolled my eyes, "Don't worry about it."

She huffed, "Fine, but we're not taking responsibility for this."

I jumped off the pedestal that was separating us from the poisonous courtyard and ignored the gasps and eyes that were fixed on my body.

 _"Food!" "Two-legged weakling" "I wonder if it tastes like chicken"_

 _"I do not taste like a chicken you idiotic dunderhead."_ I hissed lowly at them.

The pair of pythons that were approaching excitedly stopped dead in their tracks and raised their heads and looked at each other.

 _"I told you these rats tasted funny,"_ The male hissed.

The female hissed ruefully _, "Hallucinating rats, what has the world come to?"_

 _"You're not hallucinating,"_ I rolled my eyes _; "I'm a Parselmouth, the Descendant of the most Ancient and Noble house of Slytherin."_

Both serpents stared silently, _"So… You're not food?"_

 _"No, I'm not."_ I snapped, making my way past them _, "Now move out of my way."_

They snapped into motion at the direct order from a Parselmouth and I continued on my way.

 _"Out of the way, Master of the Serpents passing through,"_ I kept muttering lowly to the snakes in the pit, ignoring the gasps and staring from both the snakes and the women.

I was almost at the end now when I noticed a 5 foot female Black Mamba lazing in the sun. I approached her softly and nudged her with my foot.

She woke up with a gasp, _"What the actual fuck?"_

I crouched down to her level, _"Sorry about that."_

She raised her eyebrow – if a snake could do that _, "You speak like a noble serpent, two-legs."_

 _I nodded, "Yeah, What's your name?"_

 _"Linda," she said briefly._

 _I blinked, "Oh-kaay, wanna come with me?"_

 _She blinked back, "What do I get from it?"_

 _"The best food that a snake could get and intelligent conversation," I replied._

She slithered up on my hands and twisted until she was comfortable, _"Let's go two-legs."_

 _"Just like that?"_ I asked surprised.

 _"I'm tired of these insufferable inbred idiots,"_ she said nudging me _, "Now let's get going."_

I shrugged and started walking back, _"Want a new name?"_

 _"No,"_ she said.

 _"Excellent, your new name is Severus."_

 _"No, it's not." She hissed angrily_

* * *

 _ **Next Day**_

The olives here were really good. It seemed that the Martells were generally quiet during breakfasts. No one said a word from the moment I walked inside with my new familiar around my shoulder.

"They weren't kidding," a voice muttered forcing me to look up from my plate.

Prince Doran was seated on a wheeled chair being pushed inside the room with a nervous servant that kept glancing at my direction fearfully.

 _Even here in Dorne my name was feared._

He was wearing the same yellow silks as his brother but that's where the similarities ended. His body was soft and frail, unlike his brother's strong body. His joints were swollen and red at knees and hands from the gout. He was supposedly older than Oberyn by 10 years but he looked as old as his father, grey hair with the few odd black hair and his face showed the pain he was.

I stood up, causing the servant to jump back a few metres, "A pleasure to finally meet you, Prince Doran."

He pushed his eyes off the Mamba and bowed his head towards me, "A pleasure to meet you as well, Lord Stark. I would stand to greet you, but my gout has been particularly painful these days. "

"Ah, I have heard. I actually have something for you here," I said pulling out two potions from my pockets, "These two should hopefully end any pain or swelling from the gouts for months or even years at a time."

"I have not heard of such a cure," he said suspiciously at the two vials.

I nodded, "That may be because I developed it myself."

"Very well, if I may?" He said extending his hands to take the two vials.

He removed the corks from both vials and quickly swallowed them with a sigh.

It was as if magic was at work. Spoiler alert; it was.

The two potions were actually an anti-inflammatory and a neutralizer that breaks down the crystals that were causing the pains in the tissues and prevent ulric acid from accumulating for a time. It was a NEWT level medical potion.

The swelling reduced visibly from his joints and his body straightened by itself.

He kept closing and wriggling his legs and hands to test if there was any pain and stood up, "Incredible," he murmured.

He closed his eyes with a blissful sigh, "You have my gratitude, Lord Stark. House Martell is in your debt."

I smiled at him, "It was no problem, Prince Doran."

He smiled back and walked towards the table, ignoring the astonished looks from his brother and daughters, "I trust you were entertained yesterday," He said motioning at Severus who was snoozing right now.

"Ah, yes. I have an affinity with snakes," I told him.

"I can see that," he said amusedly.

"He's insane," Tyene yelled but shrunk at the gaze of her uncle and remembered that she was talking to a Lord Paramount, "He walked in nothing but his breeches through the Stranger's Garden."

Oberyn laughed loudly and clapped me on my back, "I hope you're as good with a sword as you are with snakes, my friend. We're sparring after breakfast."

Obara had a curious look on her face and appreciating towards the Mamba on my shoulder, "Count me in."

"Very well, Shall we?"

I smiled at him tightly, "Sure."

I pretended not to notice Ramsay smuggling some olives in his pocket.

* * *

We were circling each other. Oberyn was pointing his 8 feet long blunted spear at me, while I just had a blunted longsword in my right hand and a dagger in my left.

"Your stance is terrible," He commented.

"I'm sure it is," I replied.

He looked annoyed at my nonchalance, "Are you sure you know how to fight?" He mocked, "Wouldn't want to hurt the Lord Paramount of the North in Dorne."

His spear came quick as soon as he finished talking, poised to skew me. I charged towards the spear, twisting my body around the spear and slashed my sword at his legs which he barely evaded.

Oberyn managed to regain his footing and kept thrusting his spear and slashing it at a ridiculous speed which I deflected and moved out of the way without breaking a sweat and looking bored.

Oberyn saw this and was getting angry at my dodging and deflecting, "Fight back!"

I smiled at him sinisterly, causing him to stumble at the change of attitude, "Gladly."

I parried his last slash and flowed through the distance between us striking at his head. It was only because of his helm that he was alive, but he was dizzy and I was planning on taking that advantage.

 _Slash, Strike, Blow, Dodge._

I fell into rhythm quickly, causing cuts and bruises to appear all over Oberyn's body.

He lost his temper after a while however and thrust his spear viciously towards me, placing all his weight on his right leg. I quickly pushed his spear and down and threw my dagger at his face, causing him to stumble in order to avoid it and falling on the ground.

"Yield?" I asked innocently.

He kept looking at my sword that rested at his throat and my unharmed body back and forth for several times, until he broke out laughing loudly.

The crowd that gathered around us in the courtyard cheered as well at the victory.

Oberyn said, "You are without doubt, the best swordsman I've ever seen."

I laughed and offered him my hand which he took graciously and pulled him up.

He offered me a wineskin which I took gratefully and swallowed the soothing liquid quickly.

"Perhaps we can spar again tomorrow. Do you know how to use a spear?"

I nodded, "Better than I can use a sword."

"Bold claim," he laughed, "I like you already. I'm going to make love to my lover and moan about my embarrassing defeat."

I laughed and waved at him as he walked away to his room.

 _Wait… Where was Jon?_

* * *

 _ ***Warning SMUT SCENE***_

Jon was too lost in his thoughts and too tired to notice the body sitting on his bed.

Princess Arianne jumped off the bed with grace and quickly entered his uncomfortable zone until their faces were almost touching.

She scrunched her nose, "You smell of sweat and blood."

He gulped and stepped back, "Well, your cousin Obara is a good fighter."

She nodded, "You need to have a bath, follow me."

Jon followed, eyes tracing her swaying hips and slender legs all the way up her luscious breasts and her alluring black eyes.

Black eyes?

Fuck.

Our eyes met and hers was twinkling with amusement as he kept his eyes to the ground and walked onwards.

We reached the connecting room that held a small pool with slightly steaming water.

Jon smiled at her nervously, "Thank you for your help, Princess. I can take it from here."

She rolled her eyes, "I told you to call me Arianne, Jon."

"It's not proper…" Whatever he was going to say died in his throat as she closed the gap between them and started working her way through his silk tunic.

She smiled at me, "Just a bath, right?"

He nodded hesitantly and allowed her to take off his shirt and turned around. She snaked her arms around his waist and began playing with his breeches waist as his ears turned a healthy red.

I could feel her black silken hair and warm breath on my shoulder and held my breath savoring her sweet smell.

She pushed me towards the pool and I got inside without looking once in the hot water. It was relaxing and warm. I would have preferred it a little cold though.

She started brushing the hot water through his dirt covered skin, sending chills down Jon's spine with every touch.

"You're a pretty good fighter Jon," She said.

He kept his eyes stubbornly in front of him, "Thank you."

"I was worried when you and Obara fought, she can get slightly overzealous." She said breaking the silence.

"She's a good fighter," Jon shivered as he felt her hands play through his hair.

"Jon," He hummed in response, "Look at me."

I turned around slowly and squeaked lowly.

It was as if looking at a goddess. Her slightly tanned skin was perfect, completely smooth as if it was made of porcelain. Her hair was a little damp and clung onto her sweaty skin, which made her look more desirable. Jon wasn't an expert on such matters, but he thought that Arianne's breast looked perfect, perfectly shaped with dark and large. My eyes kept going down at her toned belly down to her most sacred place. She was bare as a babe, without a single strand of hair.

Jon's heart was beating so fast right now, "We- My… You're the future princess of Dorne. I'm a bastard from the North."

She tilted her heads sideways causing her hair to cover her breasts, "So?"

He held back the groan, "It's not proper."

"You don't want me?" She asked.

"Of course I want you. You're beautiful my princess but…" She smiled at him and claimed his open mouth instantly killing any other protests.

She tastes like sweet olives. Of course that may had something to do with the olives she ate but that was irrelevant. Her tongue was slippery and moist, fighting for dominance. Such warm, sweet moistness, but at the same moment the hand gripping my wrist guided my heated fingers to slide over the incredible smoothness of her left breast. She guided my fingers over a firm nipple, before releasing my hand, and some instinct beyond my own experience had my hand closing completely over that glorious globe. I was touching a real live breast! I've never kissed a woman before so I just acted on instinct. She groaned mid-kiss and I thanked the Old Gods that I was seated because I would've most likely fallen from my week knees.

She broke the kiss with a groan from me and looked at him with slightly hooded eyes, "Any more protests?"

Jon shook his head and followed her to the bed.

She climbed a top on the bed and lay down, pointing her finger towards her wet core.

"Are- Are you sure?" He mumbled.

She rolled her eyes, "Shut up and pleasure me."

Jon shrugged and dove inside her savoring the sweet taste.

* * *

 _AN:/_

 _For the Arianne Lovers, rejoice! I wanted to include Arianne in the fic regularly but not as Brandon's lover, so this is the next best thing._

 _Next Chapter, The Stormlands and King's Landing!_

 _EDIT; Since apparently descriptive smut isn't allowed, I've decided to go with the safe route and just edit it._


	16. Chapter 16

_Please Check the Author Notes and REVIEW!_

 _ **Stormlands, Dornish Marches, Black Haven.**_

"Lord Donddarion, Thank you for having us," I said as we dismounted off our horses.

He grinned, "Of course, Lord Sta- What the?"

My aunt, Allyria Dayne, skipped any courtesies and just ran my way, "Oh you look a lot like them," She cooed as she kept inspecting and stretching my face, "Ashara's eyes and Arthur's shoulders."

I smiled nervously at her as she continued her coddling, I wasn't used to this. My relationship with the only family I was familiar with was with uncle Benjen and Jon. It was more like poker buddies than family. We generally gave each other space and had fun, no incessant coddling and protectiveness.

She wiped her eyes furiously and sniffed, "I'm sorry my lord, Welcome to Black Haven."

I smiled at her, "Please call me Brandon, Lady Donddarion."

Unfortunately that caused her tears to flow more freely, "Call me Aunt Allyria, dearie."

"Of course," I said tightly as she patted my cheek.

Her husband grinned in the background and suggested, "Perhaps we should let our guests rest first?"

"Oh- Of course, a servant will show you your quarters," She said as she composed herself.

"Thank you," I replied.

As we followed the servant assigned to us Jon whispered, "Well, That was better than I expected."

"Quite the lovely lady isn't she?" I said in reply, "Clean up and make sure to check on the wolves before we go to eat."

By now, every castle in the Seven Kingdoms knew that the Stark Lord travelled with horse-sized Direwolves and apart from slight widening of eyes at their size at first, no comments were made, Severus was always snoozing inside my clothes. A couple of charms took care of any irritation or discomfort.

The guest rooms were nice enough, not as impressive as the ones back at Winterfell but I couldn't expect the standards at the North in the barbaric and undeveloped south.

By now, every city, village and town in the North had proper aqueducts, bath houses, straight concrete roads guarded by elite forces and a decent- for this world- sewer system. Wintercity was heralded as the greatest city in Westeros.

No place smelled of shit anywhere in the North. If you disposed your garbage and shit in a non-designated spot, you had to clean it yourself and serve for 50 hours in the sewers as well as pay a fine.

Needless to say, my toilets were a big hit.

Here in Blackhaven however, there wasn't much.

The number of smallfolk was acceptable, the castle wasn't that big and the area it controlled wasn't productive or allowed farming at all and mostly depended on fishing for food.

I really wanted to do something nice for my aunt and so I extended my senses to get a general idea about the area.

The marshes were remarkably alkaline and only needed slight modification of soil conditions to allow rice growth which was done in a few minutes, a few blueprints of irrigation techniques and pulling up a mine in the southeast of the lands and I was ready to go.

The food was surprisingly, fish, and while it was of a good quality, it lacked variety. I took a moment from eating and started, "I noticed that you don't depend on farming much, Lord Donddarion."

"Indeed," he nodded, "The lands are too muddy and no crop can be grown in most of them. Most of our food is generated from fishing."

"I was hoping to help you with that, actually." I said.

He looked at me with a raised eyebrow and put down his fork, "How exactly would you do that? The only way is to clear the marshes, and I don't think even the Lord Paramount of the North can do that."

Actually I could, but he didn't need to know that. "You may be familiar with House Reed and Moat Cailin in the North," I said

I waited him for him to nod and said, "They're both one of the main suppliers for rice in the North."

"I've never heard of this rice," he said now clearly interested.

"It's because no one south the neck has been really interested in it before and most of it is stored for winter," I replied

"And this… rice, it can be grown in large quantities?"

I nodded, "Yes, they make the land muddy by flooding to grow them outside the marshes in the North and in the far east. If you manage to store the grain in a dry place, it'll last forever."

He looked contemplative, "It's an intriguing proposal but what would you benefit from providing a Northern crop to me?"

I smiled at my Aunt, "I would get to help my Aunt and make her new castle better for her and any little cousins I have in the future." I added, "That and you could promote the new crop down here in the south."

He laughed, "That's more like it, I assume you're going to provide us with the seeds and grains for planting it?"

"Of course," I nodded, "Men from House Stark and the Marshes will arrive here as soon as possible with grains and teach your smallfolk how to plant them appropriately as well as mapping the area."

If the mappers managed to find the Silver vein that I pulled out as well, that was purely coincidental of course, as well as the miners that just happened to be traveling with them.

Centuries have made a bit of softie.

My aunt kept gushing about how sweet and helpful her nephew was and I just smiled at her politely. This was getting out of hand. Each time she smiled at me genuinely and the amount of love she showered at me was a tad irritating and I could feel my dark soul twisting and clenching every time she did.

"We have an agreement then my lord," He said with a laugh, "How about we celebrate with a drink?"

"Northern drinks I hope?" I grinned

An even wider grin broke out on his face, "Of course."

* * *

 _ **The next day,**_

After a vicious night of drinking that ended with Jon and Ramsay drooling on each other, me fully sober and Beric- as he asked me to call him almost getting poisoned from the amount of alcohol he consumed we were on our horses to hunt.

Joy.

I don't know what these medieval cunts found so amusing about riding out in the dirt to capture animals and I didn't want to find out.

If we wanted a boar, a stag or even a bloody elephant, we would ask the hunters to find us one and within the day we would have it on our table. Sometimes we sent our wolf hunting parties to get it.

Almost fifty direwolves were fully grown in the new kennels by now and they couldn't just leave them scooped all day. Therefore, hunters and direwolves trainers would go out on hunting trips to bring back food and stretch their legs. The direwolves were also trained in running and fighting with a full suit of armor on them. Trust me, there was something beautiful about a charge of fully armored, horse-sized wolves just waiting to tear through infantry and cavalry alike.

We were already in the process of training riders for the direwolves, but so far they preferred working independently, only 5 or 6 bonded with their riders.

The mammoths were also proving to be fearsome but the huge acromantulas proved to be a bit too much for our soldiers. I would have to pick a few soldiers back at Winterfell and plant memories and a bit of magic in them to allow them to take over and control the huge arachnids.

Now someone may be worried that I'm practically handing out magic left and right but that wasn't exactly the case. I had a monstrously huge core and only handed out branches that could be cut at any moment to my chosen ones. Each time any of them cast the minor spells that I taught them it would tap into my own magical core.

Back to our ridiculous hunt, we had to make our way into the filthy swamps avoiding poisonous plants and enduring mosquitos all the way. Beric Dondarrion was a great knight and fighter but absolute shit at hunting.

His breathing was loud and footsteps spooked animals away. We've been at it for almost five hours now and he managed to scare off 5 stags and a small army of boars that almost gutted us.

I noticed that he managed to track the stag we were following for the last half an hour and motioning to us to follow.

30 meters- 20 meters – 10 meters now and- _**SNAP**_

The idiot managed to step on a branch and break it. The stag looked up from the grass and spotted us, but I seriously had enough.

"Nagini, Kill." I almost hissed in anger.

Nagini looked up and broke out in a run, flowing like liquid over rocks and between trees and jumping over the stag killing it in one swipe of its claws.

Our entire party was silent, looking at me with amazement. I looked at them, "Is anyone going to carry the stag or do I have to do everything myself?"

That broke them out of their stupor and each shuffled to their tasks.

Beric whined, "I almost got it."

I looked at him with a cold gaze that caused him to flinch, "Where are you going next, Lord Stark."

"Storm's end castle, to meet lord Renly hopefully," I replied.

He broke out laughing and clarified at my befuddled look, "I don't think our liege lord has stayed in Storm's end ever since his grace took the throne."

"Where can we find him then?" Jon asked.

"Most likely at King's Landing; He's the Master of Laws on the small council."

"We'll just have to skip Storm's End I guess," I said.

He nodded, "The king is hosting a tourney in a few weeks for the crown prince name-day, and you can accompany our party there."

"You're participating?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

He grinned, "Nothing can keep me from the glory and excitement of tourneys, and the king's tourneys are the best."

I shrugged, "Very well."

* * *

We remained in Blackhaven for almost a week after the hunt and from there another week to arrive in King's Landing.

The seat of the monarch and ruler of the Seven Kingdoms was disgusting and the smell of shit could be smelled a couple miles away from the gates. Needless to say, I wasn't impressed.

Poorer smallfolk build shanty settlements outside the city. While the city is roughly square-shaped, sprawling across several miles and defended by tall walls. Our party was allowed quickly through the Iron Gate into the city.

Inside, the city was dotted with manses, arbors, granaries, brick storehouses, timbered inns, merchant stalls, taverns, graveyards and brothels. It was a complete chaos! The sewer system that was built at the founding of the city has collapsed and no one bothered to change it. There were no clear districts! Everything was so jumbled.

Smoke, sweat, and shit. King's Landing, in short.

The city held almost 500,000 at summer time which was way too much than it can properly sustain. Yes, Wintercity had around 1 million citizens but most of them had jobs outside the city in the surrounding lands and it was much much cleaner.

I doubted that anyone bothered to map the city and record any of the buildings and shops here.

In the south-eastern corner of the city lied the Red Keep, the royal castle, made of pale red stone with seven drum-towers crowned with iron ramparts. Massive curtain walls surround the keep, with nests and crenelations for archers.

It had nothing on Winterfell. Our towers and walls were thrice as high and our castle was much cleaner and fearsome.

"Where do they host tourneys?" I asked Beric.

He replied, "Outside the city, just by the Blackwater."

"And where are we going to stay until the tourney?" I asked

He shrugged, "We'll find a decent inn."

A man in a white cloak with droopy eyes and red beard approached us

"My Lord Stark," he said bowing his head, "The king requests your and your party's presence in the Red Keep."

I nodded at him, "Lead the way Ser….?"

"Meryn Trant, my lord." He said turning around and guiding us with a contingent of gold cloaks.

We passed through a lot of corridors and hallways until we finally reached the great hall.

It was cavernous room that could hold almost a thousand nobles comfortably with tapestries of hunting adorning the walls. The Iron Throne sat on a raised dais with high and narrow steps.

The throne itself wasn't as I thought it would be. It is supposed to have taken a thousand blades to make, heated in the breath of Balerion the Black Dread.

Instead it was a small monstrosity of spikes and jagged edges that looked extremely uncomfortable and not as big as I thought it would be.

On it sat a fat man, red faced under his beard, sweating heavily while Jon Arryn stood proudly disregarding his old age and white hair.

On the other side of the throne on a smaller chair, a slender woman with golden hair and emerald green eyes sat imperiously looking over us with a blond copy of her sitting with a bored expression on his face.

The herald announced us, "Introducing Lord Brandon Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount of the North, Warden of the North and the Annihilator of Pyke."

Annihilator of Pyke? Was that a formal title?

I swallowed my pride and kneeled at the throne, "Your grace."

Robert just waved me off and laughed loudly, "Bran! I haven't seen you since the Greyjoy Rebellion."

"We've decided to take a break from ruling the North and visit the Seven Kingdoms, your grace."

His eyes get glassy, "Ahhh! Sometimes I wish I could do the same." He shook his head, "There is a tourney next week. You're here for it?"

I nodded and he boomed laughing, "Excellent. We'll have a feast tonight to welcome you properly in King's Landing."

"I'll be honored your grace." I said.

He nodded and stood up bellowing, "Baelish, Wine and Whores!"

Jon looked at Robert exasperatedly and shook his head in disappointment and approached us, "Welcome to King's Landing, Brandon."

"Thank you, Jon. Do you happen to know where I could find a manor to buy here? House Stark should have a place in King's Landing, right?"

"Of course, my page will send you a list of available manors in a few minutes," He smiled, "How's the North and Ned?"

"Both are doing well," I said with a grin, "I couldn't pull Uncle Ned from the North however."

"Ned always loved the North," he said sighing, "I doubt he'd have come to the Eyrie if it wasn't a direct order from his father."

I nodded without saying anything.

"Perhaps you would be interested to join us on the small council as an advisor during your stay? It's about time that the North had a representative on the small council don't you say?"

I took a peek into his mind and found out his reason. He thought if he could placate me with a position on the Small Council in the future he'd keep me under his gaze in King's Landing instead of strengthening the North even more.

I was too intrigued however to find out how the Small Council worked here in the Capital so I nodded, "Perhaps after the tourney?"

"Of course," He smiled kindly, "Ah! There's Pate, he'll guide you to the manors and help you settle in."

I nodded at the boy, "Thank you for all your help, Jon."

He waved me off, "It was nothing, my boy. Starks are practically family to us."

I smiled at him and excused myself.

* * *

We found a mansion soon enough. Gold persuaded anyone… and compulsions. We managed to get a grand mansion on top of a cliff on Rhaenys Hill surrounded by a small Moat. I sent a raven to Winterfell ordering 300 soldiers to arrive at King's Landing to protect the Mansion at all times. It would take almost 2 weeks for them to arrive but for now, I had to depend on bribed Gold Cloaks and the small amount of guards that accompanied Aunt Allyria and Lord Donddarion.

We settled quickly inside and after placing wards and anti-spying hexes and loyalty spells on every guard we were ready to roam King's Landing.

It was absolutely disgusting.

The area surrounding the Red Keep was obviously the 'cleanest' and was exclusive for nobles and wealthy merchants or knights. It was acceptable for a city, ignoring the fact that even then it looked like a rat-infested smelly dungeon.

Half the city looked like it was built sporadically and without any planning whatsoever. Narrowing streets, mismatched buildings and so many irregularities made the heart of the Seven Kingdoms look like a swamp.

Dirt mixed with shit and animal entrails were used as pavements instead of cobblestone, children were scattered all over the place begging for food, men looked so dirty as if they haven't had a shower their entire lives.

Utterly disgusting.

I could feel a big smile coming on my face; King's Landing was to be my new playground.

 _ **Small Coucnil Meeting.**_

I had to leave Jon and Ramsay alone to their own devices as it would be considered rude if I brought them without invitation into the Small council.

The chamber was richly furnished. Myrish carpets covered the floor instead of rushes, and in one corner a hundred fabulous beasts cavorted in bright paints on a carved screen from the Summer Isles. The walls were hung with tapestries from Norvos and Qohor and Lys, and a pair of Valyrian sphinxes flanked the door, eyes of polished garnet smoldering in black marble faces.

I noticed three figures standing around the table waiting for the Hand and the King to arrive.

A short plump bald man wearing robes that would've made Lucius faint approached me with a soft smile, "Lord Stark, It's an honor to finally meet you," he said.

I shook his sweaty hands with a grimace, "Thank you… ermm?"

"Varys, my lord, The Master of Whispers," he said serenely.

"A pleasure, Lord Varys," I said wiping my hand discreetly.

He tittered, "I'm no lord, just a simple man serving the realm."

"Not your realm though," At his confused look, I added, "You're originally from Essos, correct? Lys to be accurate."

He replied without hesitation, "I've lived in Westeros and King's Landing for so long; I consider it my home now."

I just smiled at him and moved on, "Lord Renly."

"Lord Stark," he nodded back with an easy going smile.

I moved to the only seated occupant of the table, "Lord Stannis, I hope you are well."

"As well as I can be, my lord," he said shortly.

We were interrupted from our rich conversation by three figures, "Petyr Baelish, Lord Arryn and Grandmaester Pycelle." Renly said.

I nodded at him and nodded to the new arrivals, "Ah! Lord Stark, Truly an honor to have you here," Pycelle said with enthusiasm.

"Thank you Grandmaester," I said with a smile, "It's an honor to be here as well."

Jon nodded at me and the last man to arrive smiled at me tightly and moved without a word.

"I hereby call this Small Council meeting to session," Jon Arryn said as he took a seat.

I raised an eyebrow, "Without the King?"

Grandmaester Pycelle said, "The King entrusts us with the matters of-" Jon interrupted, "Robert doesn't care about the Small Coucnil."

Pycelle flushed and I nodded without a word. This was perfect.

"How goes the preparations for the Tourney?" Jon asked.

"There has been a few incidents," Renly said briefly.

"Incidents?" Jon asked with an arched eyebrow.

Renly said with the same easy going grin, "4 fights between nobles that was solved quickly, 3 whores were killed and we have no idea who did it, a bakery was on fire yes that also and we found a tavern wench's head as well… we still can't find the body."

Jon's eyes gained a hard glint, "And where were the Gold Cloak's during all of this?"

Renly shrugged, "I have 2,000 men. King's Landing has half a million at any time. The influx of knights and nobles is just too much too handle."

Jon sighed heavily, "This tourney is completely unnecessary!"

Renly shrugged once more, "King's orders, my lord hand."

"I seem to recall that Wintercity and Winterfell have almost the same number of citizens inside its walls," Pycelle said with a cough turning at me, "Perhaps you can advise us on how to deal with this grievous matter my lord."

All eyes fell on me and I raised an eyebrow, "We have almost 6 thousand guards throughout the city. How can you expect here each guard to keep the peace and control two hundred and fifty persons?"

Jon looked at me," Still, even 80 people per guard are too much in the North. How do you deal with it?"

I waved him off, "Dealing with smallfolk and citizens isn't a hassle. Enacting strict punishments usually gets the job done. Nobles and Knights are a completely different matter. Perhaps we could contain them in a specific area in King's Landing and focus Gold Cloak's there?"

Jon frowned, "But that would mean that the taverns and bars and whorehouses outside this area would lose money. Lodgings and drinks are located all over the city, Lord Stark. Not in a specific area."

"It might have something to do with the shitty planning of the city." I muttered lowly and added, "In a later time we could relocate and focus taverns and bars in specific areas while the houses are in a completely different area. However, our priority now is keeping everyone safe, not a few coins lost during a tourney."

Everyone was nodding now, "That sounds appropriate but somewhat temporary as you said."

"Indeed," I said, "If Lord Renly's Gold Cloak's could provide us with accurate data or even an estimate of where most taverns are located we could start immediately."

Jon nodded slowly, "It'll definitely elect some grumpiness but overall that is the best choice."

Renly called Slynt and helped us draw a rough sketch and perimeter to where the nobles were going to be heavily concentrated at and that matter was done.

"How goes the treasury and finances, Lord Baelish?" Pycelle wheezed.

Baelish and the rest of the members looked at Pycelle with frowns and raised eyebrows.

"How goes… the treasury?" Baelish stumbled.

Pycelle nodded steadily ignoring all the curious stares sent at him.

Baelish recovered quickly and answered, "All the taxes have been paid and we're currently doing… okay."

Pycelle was clearly being my buddy in this council and he seemed to have a reason for asking that question. So intrigued, I sneered, "How extremely informative of you. Define okay, Lord Baelish.

Stannis smirked while Baelish stumbled, "All the realms have delivered their taxes appropriately and the various businesses in King's Landing have paid extra due to the money spent at the tourney."

I nodded, "And the treasury?"

"The treasury." He said confused.

"Excuse me for the misconception that the Master of Coins handles the treasury and finances of the realm. So please answer, in full sentences, the question."

Varys was openly smiling at the discomfort Baelish was demonstrating. He clearly didn't expect someone to nag him about the state of the treasury. I had already heard of him before I came here. An overall obnoxious man. It seemed that Robert was content with his ability to provide dragons whenever he wanted and didn't bother.

"The treasure is currently empty, my lord." He answered tightly.

"You emptied the entire treasury on this tourney?" I asked with a raised eyebrow

Varys added helpfully, "I think what Lord Baelish means is that the treasury has been empty for quite a while my lord."

"And how did you pay for the tourney?" I asked never taking my gaze of him.

"The Queen's family accommodated." He said.

"Ah, so you're in debt. You could've saved us a lot of time if you just said that from the beginning. How much?" I said sarcastically.

Jon seemed nervous and wanted to interject but a discreet compulsion made him reconsider.

"Almost Five million golden dragons; Two Million to the Lannisters, One and a half million to the Iron Bank, 1 million to house Tyrell and the rest to various merchants and the Faith."

I said amusedly, "You borrowed from the Faith."

He bristled, "The king orders and the Master of Coin finds the money."

"Yes, I suppose you do." I said with amusement clearly on my face, "May I see your plan for repaying the debt?"

"Plan?" He asked confused.

I rolled my eyes, "It seems you've lost control over your speech once more. Yes Baelish, I assume you have a fucking plan to clear the kingdom of its debt?"

He glared at me while the others were openly smiling or smirking in the case of Pycelle and Stannis while Jon seemed to not like how this was going, "There is no plan my lord."

"Long term projects that will pay off the debt? What generates a steady income- other than taxes that is in this bloody city?" He made to answer but I just waved him off, "Winter will come before we could probably get over with this so thank you for your contribution, Lord Baelish."

Silence ensued until Jon said with a high pitch, "Dismissed."

I got off my chair with my smile still on my face and walked out of the Small Council mentally reviewing all the information I pilfered off Baelish's brain while pushing him around.

A compulsion to stop him from acting to cover his tracks and I was set to go.

* * *

As soon as I was safely inside my room in the Manor I disillusioned myself and apparated to the hidden cellar that contained all of Baelish's money first. It was a lot of gold. Way too much, even for a smart investor. It was still not as much as I thought he would have from stealing off the crown though. He must have hid them or invested them somewhere else.

I cast a small compulsion on the door that made him reconsider transporting the money anytime he approached the door.

I planted some incriminating records as well and hit off to his office.

I didn't need to take a lot of time in doing that. The incriminating documents and records were at the front of his mind during my little interrogation. Normally, he wouldn't have stumbled in answering this much. But I had casted a befuddling hex at him so that he would take his time and I could browse his mind.

I envisioned the documents needed and summoned them.

As I flipped through them, a grin slowly formed on my face.

Petyr Baelish was going down… as soon as I could safely expose him without looking like I sneaked into his private office and stole records from the royal treasury.

* * *

 _ **Next Day**_

I walked away from the great hall where court was held in the Red Keep.

I abhorred attending court with a passion. Why in the seven hells would I care if Lord Lewis's heir defiled Lord Serrill's daughter? Lord Symon has a mistress? How interesting. Lady Gerbod is actually fucking the steward and they're his children not Lord Gerbod's? Wonderful!

I could get all this information from my personal army of spies or from the Maesters whom reported to the citadel regularly and who in return worshiped the ground that I walked on.

All so unnecessary.

After an excruciating amount of time that had every Lord and Lady buttering me up and jumping in front of me in each step, I finally passed the doors of the Great Hall and into the corridor.

This is exactly why I like having Nagini with me. She scares anyone who doesn't _really_ need me away.

"A word if I may, Lord Stark?" A voice said softly.

I recognized the perfume and turned around, "Of course, Lord Varys."

The plump eunuch smiled at me and motioned for me, "I find a walk in the gardens comforting and ideal for our type of chats."

I nodded and followed him outside into the gardens.

"It seems that the wolf isn't particularly on good terms with a certain mockingbird." He said, letting out a little laugh.

I rolled my eyes, "The wolf's problem is with the incompetence and inefficiency of the mockingbird and other flaws…"

He smiled at me, "Perhaps I, as well as my birds, could prove beneficial and helpful to you."

"And how would you help me?" I asked.

"If two members of the small council, one of them the warden of the west and a personal friend of the king and the other the Master of Whispers approach the king and the hand in a matter of corruption. The king and the Hand would be amiable to listen."

I nodded, "And it would provide us free reign over the mockingbird's nest."

He laughed, "Nests my lord actually."

I raised an eyebrow, "And you are aware of the location of these nests?"

He smiled at me silently.

I nodded at him, "Very well, We will approach Robert with the issue tomorrow."

* * *

 _ **The Great Hall, The Mocking Bird's Fall.**_

I checked over the records and documents one more time before I set off with Varys towards the Iron throne.

Robert was sitting looking bored out of his mind and the dutiful Jon Arryn was standing beside him actually holding court.

Jon frowned and muttered an apology to the lord he was talking to and addressed us, "Lord Stark, Lord Varys?"

I smiled at him, "We have an issue to present, my lord hand."

His frown deepened while Robert straightened up, "I'm sure we can solve it at the Small Council."

"It is an urgent matter and cannot wait until tomorrow, Lord Arryn." I said.

He nodded, "Very well, let us retire to a more private room then."

I smiled, "Please invite the rest of the council members here as well."

I smiled, "Please invite the rest of the council members here as well."

As much as I wanted to expose Baelish infront of the hundreds of Lords and Ladies, I couldn't. It would be a political nightmare if anyone found out. So we just followed Robert and Jon into the room.

"What is the matter here?" Robert asked gruffly, annoyed that someone annoyed one of those he considers kin, even though we really aren't related in anyway or form.

As the rest of the council members took their places looking confused, Varys opened, "We have stumbled upon an interesting problem my lord. The contents of these…."

I interrupted, "Baelish is stealing from the crown."

Varys stumbled a bit and glanced at me but nodded nevertheless.

Baelish's eyes widened and his face paled considerably as he stuttered in outrage as I interrupted him, "This is a formal accusation from a Lord of a great house as well as two of your small council members, perhaps you would allow us to inspect the records of the finances to prove our case, your grace?"

Robert frowned and nodded, "Very well."

As we relocated towards the Master of Coin office Baelish seemed to be getting increasingly sweaty and nervous and glancing at the Kingsguard every once in a while.

"Ah! Here we are," I said with a smile, "If you could bring us the past tourney's expenses, Lord Baelish?"

He nodded nervously and brought the records as we gathered on a round table.

I hummed, "You have borrowed 70 thousand for the tourney correct?"

He nodded silently and I added, "The prize for the tourney is 50,000?"

"So 20,000 for the preparations of the tourney?" I asked, "Oh here is where they've gone. The most expensive wine for everyone and it seems you've actually overpaid every servant, worker and paid for the _most expensive_ food and what is this?" I asked with a grin, "50 dragons for a wench? Perhaps I should leave the North and come work here as a wench if your wenches earn this much in a month."

He stumbled and I went on, "The terrible thing however is that this doesn't match up, the amount of barrels of wine you've written here doesn't equate the number that is actually bought as well as many other inconsistencies."

I looked at him with a grin, "Too many inconsistencies and overpaid workers that some might think you're… stealing."

He looked at us nervously, "My lords, I will make sure that the scribes are punished and replaced immediately."

I waved him off, "Ah don't blame them for this. If you look at these tourneys, you can clearly see that Lord Baelish almost always overpaid and paid for too much wine and food." I said, "Coincidentally, your businesses don't provide the amount of money needed for your huge investments."

I looked at him directly in the eye and growled, "So where is the money, Lord Baelish?"

"My lords, your grace," Baelish spoke trying to reduce his stammer, "I was thinking of the crown's best interests in these investments."

He cleared his throat and went on, "I was always your loyal servant, your grace. Whenever the crown needed money, I provided."

"By embezzling and stealing from the crown," I asked with an amused glint in my eye, "Some of the gold that was stolen is under the cellar in your kitchens that can only be opened by a stone with a lever, that we know of."

Varys continued, "Now we wonder, where the little lord of the Vale is hiding the Crown's money?"

Robert clearly had enough and roared, "You fucking stealing worm," and promptly bashed Baelish's head on the mocking bird bronze statue a couple of times, turning it into goo.

I took a look at the goo that was previously Baelish's head, "Well that was nice."

Jon who was oddly silent cursed surprisingly and said, "I can't believe that my own bannerman would betray my trust in this fashion and commit treason."

"It took Lord Varys and I a lot of spies and hard work to uncover his plots and tracks," I said.

Jon added with a tone that I didn't like, "Perhaps you could be the Master of Coin, Lord Stark."

Pycelle chimed, "A most excellent proposal. Lord Stark's studies in accounting and arithmetic at the citadel and his business dealings and praise from his partners sh ow his efficiency and suitability for this position."

Robert grunted and said, "So be it, Bran is the new Master of Coin. Fix this dip shit," He pointed at Baelish, "fuck ups."

I smiled tightly, "You honor me with your trust my lords."

* * *

This was absolutely agonizing. The entire treasury and accountants and key holders were Petyr Baelish's. They couldn't provide me with accurate results because they didn't actually know anything. I dismissed all of them except for 2 accountants that I ordered them to decipher Baelish's records and numbers.

The only clear answer I was able to gain was that the crown was in debt to the Iron Bank with 2 million dragons and Tywin Lannister another 2 million dragons. One of the privileges of being a Master of Coin was that your praise and work was noticed pretty quickly, on the other hand any decay or corruption was thrown at my legs.

I could either cause the throne to be more in debt to me and less to Tywin Lannister, but that would serve no actual purpose. A Faceless man would take care of Robert if he refuses to pay or even I could overtake the throne myself. But something about conquest by finances sounded a bit silly to me.

I was so deep in my thoughts that I almost didn't notice the ethereal squat little figure with short, grey, wavy hair wearing a patched hat covered in dirt and earth.

"Professor Sprout?" I asked incredulously.

Unsurprisingly, she didn't answer. She just kept shaking her head at me.

I closed my eyes with a sigh, "I understand professor."

She kept shaking her head, "I should let the kingdoms decay then?" I suggested uncertainly.

More shaking, "I'm seriously confused right now."

She just shook her head even more which caused me to lose my temper, "You do realize I could trap your soul for eternity in the lowest pit in hell?" I asked sweetly.

Her eyes widened in shock and she disappeared with a _puff_ of smoke.

I took one long look at the records and just sighed.

 _Once a badger, always a badger._

* * *

 _AN:/_

 _Getting the plot back on track._

 _ **I seriously need suggestion on renovations and innovations in King's Landing. I want to take it slow and be creative without powering it over the North. Your suggestions are appreciated and definitely needed!**_

 _ **Next Chapter features Joffrey and Cersei!**_


	17. Chapter 17

_**Small Council Chambers**_

"So, you handle the renovations and the maintenance of King's Landing?" I asked.

Jon nodded cautiously, "It's one of my duties, yes."

"Splendid job, my lord hand." I muttered under my breath.

He frowned and asked, "Why is the matter of renovation and maintenance concern you?"

"Because if not that, what the fuck am I going to do?" at Jon's confused look, "The Master of Coin is nothing more than a glorified senior accountant."

Pycelle, my new best friend, chimed in, "In the past a lord was assigned as the Master of Works during ventures to the crown, usually under the command of the Master of Coin."

Jon replied, "The crown cannot afford any large ventures."

I nodded at him, "Perhaps that is true, but we can start by improving roads to reduce traveling time to increase trade and commerce, start building long term projects that will provide steady revenue in the future. We cannot function on taxes and lord's generosities alone."

"What do you propose then, Lord Stark" Varys asked softly from the corner where the small council members were gathered.

"The inclusion of Master of Works to my responsibilities as well as increasing the offices allotted to me for more underlings."

Jon raised an eyebrow, "You wish free reign to _invest_ … in ventures that may be profitable to the crown, like the late Lord Baelish?"

I narrowed my eyes at him and said lowly, "I have mountains of gold ten times as big as Casterly Rock. Other houses look like smallfolk compared to the wealth of my house. Please remember that my family has been on this land for 8000 years and being a fancy accountant to accommodate for the king's desires isn't what I would particularly call a profitable venture."

Jon paled a bit and sighed heavily, "My apologies, Brandon. I'm still on edge from Baelish's treason."

I nodded without saying a word.

He gazed at me for a while before replying, "Very well, but please consult with me before investing in any ventures."

I narrowed my eyes at him but let it pass.

Varys sought to end the awkward silence and said, "My birds have confirmed the location of almost all Lord Baelish's hideout and stashes."

Jon nodded, "How much money have we found?"

"Just two hundred and fifty thousand golden dragons," I answered.

"The rest have been turned into investments and opening of his whorehouses," Jon concluded.

I nodded at him, "I've contacted uncle Benjen and he agreed to buy all of Littlefinger's brothels and whorehouses, but he'll implement stricter rules and sanitation so you can expect a raven from him soon Lord Renly."

Renly just nodded at me.

"Where does that leave the treasury?" Jon asked.

"Just a bit over a million and a half," I answered.

Jon frowned for a moment, "Make sure to repay the Faith and the merchant cartels."

I nodded slowly, "That would leave a million dragons in the treasury."

He replied as he prepared to leave, "Make sure that there's never less than half a million in the treasure at any time."

"Very well," I said.

I chatted a bit with the remaining council members and darted to the door to make my way to my manor when I was intercepted by a large man wearing sootdark armor.

"The prince requests your presence, Lord Stark," he said gruffly.

"Lead the way, Ser Trant," I said with a tight smile.

 _ **Private Dining Hall**_

I entered the room to find a ten year old with bright green eyes and blonde locks. He was tall for his age sure but he was still six or seven years younger than I was.

"Welcome, Lord Stark. Thank you for accepting my invitation." He smiled at me, "Can I interest you with some dinner?"

"How generous of you, my prince," I said as I took a place across him, "Yes please."

Joffrey nodded at the servant and she promptly provided a plate of roasted duck along with a cup of wine.

"I hope you're adjusting in King's Landing weather," he said, "I hear the North is much colder."

"I have somewhat acclimated with the warm weather throughout my travels, my prince."

"Ah! Your tour throughout Westeros. I wish I could do the same," he sighed fakely, "But sadely crown prince's aren't allowed much freedom."

I just hummed noncommittally at him.

He seemed to struggle for a moment before muttering something under his breath and asking, "You've ruled the North from a young age, correct?"

I nodded slowly, "I began actively engaging in my duties at 8 name-days."

He frowned, "Was it hard? The North is as big as the other kingdoms combined."

"It wasn't easy," I took a sip from my wine, "But I was the Lord of Winterfell and a regent isn't always the most preferable of options. I did my duty as the Lord Paramount and grew up faster."

He looked downcast for a moment so I added, "I'm told it has never happened before though."

He brightened a bit, "My Grandfather had to rule and take the reins of the Lannisters from an early age as well."

"Indeed," Never mind that Tywin was a man by then and didn't have to struggle with not AK'ing each fool that thought of him as an overambitious child, "Lord Tywin has certainly changed the course of House Lannister."

I was getting tired of the endless chatter so I just warded the entire room discreetly and paralyzed him to take a deep look into his mind. His mind was surprisingly like Ramsay. The cruel streak coupled with arrogance only a prince could possess. However, delving into his memories I found the real reason he invited me.

His father.

Once after learning a kitchen cat was pregnant, Joffrey killed the animal and cut open its belly to see the kittens inside. He showed one of the unborn kittens to his father. Robert was so shocked and angry he hit the boy so hard it knocked out two of his baby teeth.

Joffrey's feeling at the time was mostly hurt that his father thought badly of him and not proud that he hunted as he did.

As I delved deeper, I could find more memories of contempt from his father, Joffrey yearning for approval and respect. Often doing cruel things in a misguided attempt to make his father proud of him and emulate him as the great warrior he was.

Sure, the kid was spoiled and indulgent with a cruel streak, but he was still a ten years old with a disapproving whoremonger father who always looked upon him with contempt.

So when his father told him to treat the Stark who was in King's landing respectfully. He thought maybe he could emulate the friendship Robert had with Eddard to make his father a bit more proud of him.

I once again cursed Tom Riddle Sr. and my sympathy for kids with shitty fathers.

On to work then,

 _Loyalty potions._ Check

 _Strength, reflexes enhancing potions._ Check

 _Insecurity and false arrogance._ Curb it a little bit

 _A disturbingly strong dependence on his mother due to his distance from his father._ Cut

 _Cruel streak._

Now this was annoying. He didn't have the same insane cruelty that Ramsay had nor the stomach for depravities could Ramsay commit at any moment. He preferred to delegate others to do his job. A side effect from growing up with endless power with his mother coddling him, you could say.

I decided to simply cast a slightly weakened _rotundum affectionum_ curse on him. Whenever he did a cruel act, his emotions would suffer the same as his victims, the same for good actions. I wasn't going to let the future King of Westeros go Maegor the Cruel or Baelor the Blessed on us once more, since Robert's Health wasn't in particular good shape, added that my plans timeline was still insecure and needed more time.

All in all, he was going to be a less cruel and cold version of Tywin Lannister.

 _Obliviate_ and we're set to go.

"Huh? What happened," He said as he blinked his eyes rapidly.

I smiled at the kid, "We were going to practice and improve your swordplay, my prince."

"Oh, yes. Right," He said before smiling at me, "Thank you, Lord Stark."

I muttered, "it's no big deal kid."

Life was so much easier when I lacked morals and compassion.

* * *

Danire Yew was a forty year old man, hailing from King's Landing and was the Head of the workers that tended to the sewers and drains in the city.

"So to sum it up, the sewers haven't been tended to for almost a century." I told the man cheerfully.

He nodded fearfully, "We tend to any breaking or minor repairs my lord, but we don't have enough funds."

"How about fresh water? How do the smallfolk living in here get water?" I asked.

"There were small canals to provide from Blackwater Rush but they were mostly dumped and have largely drained now." He answered getting more nervous.

"Have you appealed to the king with the problem or have you just largely ignored the situation?" I asked

He shook his head, "We ask the Lord Hand many times, my lord. But he always sends us off."

Fucking Jon.

I took a moment to gather my thoughts and formulate my plans; I couldn't just carve new tunnels under King's Landing… wait a minute.

."When Maegor built King's Landing he has not only made sure that the castle had numerous secret passages but also under King's Landing numerous passages were tunneled and made to allow an escape of a large regiment of his soldiers or to sneak in his soldiers if needed," I said to them.

Ignoring their blank looks and talking to myself, "Most these tunnels don't work anymore but they're numerous and could be connected…"

I wandered to my bookshelf where I picked off the layout map that held the underground map of King's Landing. Tunnels that would never be discovered or had secret passages were all uncovered by my wards, I was going to use them now.

"The tunnels are old, yes and they'll need reinforcing but they're much better than having to start all over." I said to the men.

They nodded slowly, "We'll still need funds milord."

I waved him off, "Minimal funds that won't seriously affect the kingdom."

I spread the map clearly for them to see, "There are two intersecting tunnels that are large enough to be our base."

I motioned to the tunnels passing through the king's gate to the Dragon gate and the other through the Gate of Gods right under the Red keep, "would need to be reinforced and linked to the Blackwater Rush and bay." I said, "Those smaller tunnels running all under the city will be all linked and sealed to all of them."

For the next hour we mapped and chose the tunnels that would function to transfer water from the river and those that would be for sewages and their point of meeting to their final drainage into the sea.

The men have gotten a bit into ease by the time we've finished thankfully.

"I'll order any extra elm timber or lead to be sent to you to reinforce the tunnels as well as send for concrete from the North," I told them.

One of them hesitated and said, "Still, my lord. How would the people use underground sewers instead of just dumping their pot chambers out of the windows?"

"We'll need to build fountains, public latrines, wells and public baths built all over the city." I said with a sigh.

"That would cost a lot my lord." Yew said.

"On average a smallfolk earns a stag a week or 8 pennies a day," I said to Yew, "We obviously can't charge them for fresh water but what we can charge them for is baths."

"How would that help, my lord?" He asked confused, "They won't use it."

I shook my head at him, "Bathing is considered a privilege and once they get used it they'll become addicted to it." I sketched a few plans and laid them out on the table, "What I propose is the following; King's Landing has half a million souls living inside its walls."

"A public bath can be built with minimum resources after providing fresh water through the tunnels. If we were to charge each man a penny for entering bathing it would pay for itself rather rapidly."

Yew nodded thoughtfully, "A penny isn't that much and men would love to feel like clean nobles."

"Exactly," I said to Yew, he was surprisingly competent from a man of his birth, "We would have to set up almost a hundred public baths throughout the city as well as twice that much fresh water sources."

Mentally calculating the amount as well as considering casting charms that appeal the bathhouses to the smallfolk, "It would generate on average almost 70-80 golden dragons a day; more than enough to maintain the sewer system and pay for its keep and building costs."

The man smiled happily, "Excellent idea my lord."

I nodded at him, "From now on you're working directly under me and you'll report directly to me."

"Of course, my lord," he said and quickly scuffled with the rest of his colleagues to get started on the improvements.

From emperor of the world to designing sewage systems, what a delightful change!

 ** _The Great Fire of King's Landing_**

I wiped the bead of sweat that trickled down his face. The past 48 hours… weren't that bad actually. It all started with my surveyors and inspectors checking the last area and the most important one for me so we can get started on rebuilding; Rhaneys' Hill.

To sum things up, during the durability inspection of a warehouse, it collapsed, causing caches of wildfire to blow up the surrounding area to smithereens. The amount of wildfire was distributed with extreme precision as to make sure that the fire doesn't die out.

Thanks to my foresight, I ordered a perimeter established and evacuated Rhaneys Hill and the surrounding neighborhoods completely. Thanks to our non-existent fire brigade, we had to use water buckets, hooks and axes to pull down the buildings and make fire breaks.

Initially, I was tempted to put off the wildfire myself. Needless to say, I refrained. That doesn't mean that I left thousands of people to die. I had passively contained the wildfire until almost everyone was evacuated from this part of the city and let it go with an explosion that engulfed third the city in its fiery green flames.

We gathered in the Small Council chamber after the fire, staring at a balding old man with a maniac glint in his eyes.

"And how is this not your fault, exactly?" Jon asked the pyromancer for the hundredth time.

"My lord, please, mercy. We would never do such a heinous thing!" Hallyne, the head of the Alchemist Guild stammered nervously.

"But you were aware of the large quantities of wildfire hidden all under the city?" Varys asked softly.

He shook his head fearfully, "My lords, I was only but an acolyte during the Mad King's reign. Grandmaster Rossart and the alchemists don't trust even the apprentices with the knowledge, my lords. The power of the substance, it burn yes and devours all. But it's not for all of us…"

A sweaty man in grey robes interrupted Hallyne's speech and said between breaths, "My lords… a raven from Oldtown… The Citadel… It's burning…. Green flames"

And that was my cue, " _Imperio_ ," I whispered silently.

Hallyne was in my grasp quickly enough and his will power shattered he kept looking nervously at the exits and promptly removed a dagger and slit his own throat.

"A disgrace!" Pycelle yelled as he turned to us, "My lords, we must act immediately. They're just as Mad as Aerys. Should we stand and wait until the entirety of Westeros burns in green flames?"

Jon closed his eyes looking more tired than anyone ever seen him before, "Lord Renly's Goldcloaks are already in the process of apprehending all the alchemists and their acolytes. We must deal with relocating more than a hundred thousand into temporary houses and rebuild a third of the city, preferably before I die." He finished sarcastically.

Varys frowned, "I'm no Master of Coin but the cost to rebuild this much settlements would be staggering. Even with the amount confiscated from Lord Baelish."

I nodded, "I'm currently conducting a census and should provide you with accurate numbers and costs tomorrow." I turned to Pycelle who seemed much more riled up than ever, "Most of the Archmaesters were at the Temple for their annual meeting. Please send ravens and inform them to set it up as a temporary base for the Maesters for the foreseeable future."

He nodded seriously, "Thank you, my lord. I will at once!"

"This is going to throw us deeper and deeper in debt." Jon grumbled.

A voice interrupted us loudly, "So? Have you figured out if this was an accident or from the fucking Targeryan Loyalists?"

"Your grace," we all said at once.

Jon shook his head, "The attack on the Citadel was caused by the Alchemist's Guild but so far, the fire seems to be an accident."

Robert looked at me, "How much is this going to cost us, Bran?"

"Initial reviews suggest almost 6 maybe 7 million dragons," I said frowning.

Robert's looked at me incredulously. It didn't matter if he was an extravagant king and he plunged the kingdom into debt, this was still way too much for the kingdom to afford.

"I have a proposal," I said straightening up, "I'll buy Rhaenys' Hill and a few miles of the crownlands."

They all rounded at me with varying expression that clearly thought I had completely lost it.

"It's a pile of Ashes…" Robert said.

Before I could reply Jon said, "You can't buy almost third of the land of King's Landing!"

"Why not?" I shrugged, "I'm willing to pay 3 million golden dragons for it. The money can be used to reimburse owners of lands and in the worst case you'll have half that amount remaining."

"Not even the Lannisters are that fucking rich." Robert said faintly.

I smirked at him and added, "All the construction and temporary accommodation of the citizens will be handled and paid by myself. All I ask is to own Rhaneys' Hill and an area outside the gates."

Jon kept trying to formulate a sentence and before he could start berating me Robert said, "Done!"

Robert laughed loudly, "If this is how Small Council sessions end, I'll have to take some time from whoring and come more often."

I smiled at Robert and said, "I'll send for almost a thousand Masters and Engineers to supervise the reconstruction and new planning. It'll take 2 weeks for the supplies and men to arrive and begin reconstructing."

Robert patted me on the shoulder and walked away yelling for vodka.

I quickly excused myself from the stunned assembly but not before informing Stannis to start transporting huge amounts of volcanic ash to Winterfell.

I smiled smugly at myself walking away. It was good being me in days like these.

 _ **297 AC, King's Landing.**_

Twelve million golden dragons spent on the biggest reconstruction project of the history.

I had to continuously assign my mages to obliviate and cast compulsion on those that couldn't find a plausible way for me to have this much money. If I lacked my Philosopher stone, I'd have probably bankrupted the entire North.

The speed at which the city recovered was slightly ridiculous. As soon as the northmen arrived almost a hundred thousand workers were employed in the reconstruction.

I had to first build settlements around the Crownlands. They were quickly built but were actually much better than their previous homes; they would probably live outside for the rest of their miserable lives.

Soon enough, we had a couple thousands of men employed throughout King's Landing either farming the lands or working in the Kingswood.

The area in Rhaenys' Hill held the largest amount of taverns and inns in the city, so in a moment of brilliance I decided to build the first hotel in Westeros.

First, the new roads were laid out in a grid running east to west, north to south with diagonal connections radiating out. Large boulevards were built and some buildings were demolished in Visenya's and Aegon's hill as to widen the main roads at one go and pave them appropriately and add a sense of symmetry to the city.

Most of the buildings erected were carefully planned and had clear districts and were mostly of a uniform theme. They were 4 or 5 stories due to the wider roads. The outside façade was the fancy neoclassical style of Paris. The entirety of Rhaeny's Hill should be the grandest part of King's Landing. The new architecture style with columns and elaborate balconies was going to blow these medieval cunts' minds.

Even with the huge numbers working in the building along with artisans and masons and magical tweaking to accelerate the building, we still had a couple thousand people with no work. I could trust them with a few labor activities in my new masterpiece but thousands of builders and artisans were sent from the North to start building the first Hotel ever built in the History of Westeros.

It was all worth it however. I owned third the capital. Most of the citizens hadn't bothered to relocate from their more comfortable homes and remained at the settlements, not that there was any place for them.

Inns, taverns, large markets, shops and whorehouses of varying classes were opened in my section of the city. The closer you got to the center of the city the more fanciful and expensive they became.

My masterpiece however, was the world's first hotel.

The hotel at 500 feet high was a mix of cream and gold. It had 250 standard rooms, while the top 10 floors were specifically made for nobles with an amazing amount of extravagance. It held 50 Supreme Rooms and 5 Royal Suites.

Normally, the floors on the lower levels would cost more but due to the introduction of my new invention, the elevator we managed to skip this problem.

We had to show a basic hydraulic elevator for the spectators. It wasn't like anyone was going to recognize our bluff, while we concealed the charmed generator and traction motor behind an illusion.

The words "The Wolf's Den" were elaborated and displayed from pure gold and diamonds detailing on the entrance. The lobby incorporated the elegance of European palaces with gleaming cream-and-gold marble floors, the fanciest chandeliers from Myr, chairs that looked more like art than furniture as well as aquariums with fish from all over the world and a spectacular fountain in the middle of it all.

On top of the building a large wolf sat proudly howling in direction of the sky that could be seen from two days ride to the city.

The Royal Suites and lobby were designed and were much much more extravagant and expensive than the Red Keep.

On the other hand, the Sewage System was going great. The city had for the last 2 months a really small smell of lingering shit. The commoners were clean as hell and I was right, they liked the idea of bathing a lot. It was more of a place to socialize than a sanitary place.

Fountains and wells were sprouted all over the city and the people could always find water within a few blocks from their residence. We had to dig uncovered sewers and extend the system a bit to accommodate the population that lived in the grid blocks of apartments that I had provided during the Great Fire of Rhaenys' Hill.

It was quickly becoming a city rather than a settlement, with almost a hundred thousand remaining comfortably outside instead of returning inside the walls of King's Landing. Many buildings were bought and demolished to allow the building of public squares and my fountains and sanitation buildings.

While it is true that the south west area of the city remained relatively untouched, my third of the city was almost out of place. We had to widen the northern gates to accommodate with the increased traffic coming inside the fancy neighborhoods and marketplaces.

The area I was awarded just outside the Old Gate was transferred into a Factory of the North and commoners poured in great numbers to work in the various departments of our factory, learning new crafts in the process. The tanners have been relocated on the Far East outside the city walls, to prevent the smell of tanned leather from ruining the relatively clean atmosphere we were in.

The best smiths and craftsmen had quickly bought a place in Rhaenys' Hill for them and relocated there. I offered loans that would be paid back in investments and taxes which they could pay comfortably.

It made our work easier somehow as we could finally get started on renovating the remaining city but no matter how much I tried, Jon Arryn was always at my throat.

"I will not accept such a foolish venture!" Jon's voice yelled.

I sneered at him, "How is my Amphitheatre a foolish venture?"

"It's a complete waste of money." He snapped, "I will not be endorsing foolish endeavors while we are still in debt."

"The crown has almost fully repaid the debts! The only debtor left is Tywin Lannister." I said confused.

"Exactly," he said, "Tywin Lannister would relish the opportunity you would give him by half-emptying our coffers in your ventures to lend us more money."

"Seven Hells, are you fighting again?" Robert said approaching us in the Great Hall after court.

"Lord Jon seemed to forget that I cleared half the kingdom's debt in a year as well as clean the city better than ever, your grace." I said snidely.

Robert laughed, "You can't imagine how much I was surprised when I focused one day and found myself missing the smell of the shit."

I smiled at him and returning to the glaring contest with the Hand of the King.

"So what are they fighting about this time?" Robert asked Renly.

Renly replied amused, "Lord Stark wants to build an antitheater for tourney, plays and shows, Jon believes it to be a waste of money."

Varys coughed delicately from the side, "I believe the word is amphitheater my lord."

Robert waved his hands dismissively and went back to listening to Jon and Brandon argue.

"… will save almost three quarters of the cost of setting up a tourney and would provide steady income to the crown if you just bloody listen to me." Brandon said.

Robert interjected, "What's your idea, Bran?"

Brandon settled to glare one last time at the Lord of the Eyrie before turning to the king and explaining, "The amphitheater would be a permanent fixture at the Tourney Grounds."

He unraveled the set of scrolls that were with him revealing diagrams of oval public venues with seating tiers, "Melees, jousts and archery events could be done inside. I propose that we build one that can seat 50,000, charge the smallfolk a penny for standing areas and three pennies for seats. Tournaments would be held regulary for low born knights and competitors for a minimal fee. Where the top 3 winners would be allowed to fight in a grand tourney held each six months for free."

"Grand Tourney?" Robert asked intrigued.

Brandon nodded, "A Grand tourney for the best knights in the realm. Others would have to pay a fee, say 50 dragons a knight to enter, whereas the winner's name would be inscribed on the Wall of Champions forever. We would attract a lot of people and could continuously use it to entertain the smallfolk and nobles alike by theatres and shows by different performers all seeking to gain the king's patronage."

Robert boomed out, "Then why aren't you getting on with it? Can't we afford it?"

Brandon shook his head, "We can more than afford it, your grace. The treasury has almost twice the amount of the money needed and King's Landing has been mostly self-sustaining, not needing any extra expenses."

"Brilliant, Get on with it," Robert said, "And don't be such a stick in the mud, Jon. Bran hasn't let us so far and I have no reason to doubt him."

"Exactly, we aren't moving anywhere!" He almost yelled, "We need to figure out a way to gain extra money to finally get rid of this blasted debt!"

Brandon frowned at him, "There may be a solution for our monetary problems, my lord."

Jon raised an eyebrow, "And what would that be?"

"Lord Stannis tells us that the pirates that have been heavily raiding our merchant fleets are based in the Stepstones," Brandon said slowly, "Lord Varys also informs us that a wealth of several million dragons is on the unclaimed islands."

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" Jon screamed causing the entire hall to fall silent, "I will not allow the realm to go into war."

"Then we should just do nothing and leave the pirates to raid our coasts and take westerosi men and women as slaves?" Stannis said, grinding his teeth.

Jon hesitated for a moment, "The three sisters would retaliate."

I shrugged, "They are no match for our collective naval strength. The Iron Bank would support our venture. We would simply send a message informing them that any more attacks based from the Stepstones would be considered an act of war."

"And then?" Jon sneered.

"They either disown the Stepstones to avoid war with us or they ignore us and risk war and lose relations with Westeros, Braavos and Pentos." Stannis concluded.

"Indeed," I nodded at Stannis.

Robert wasted no time to interrupt Jon once more, "Send the ravens and prepare the Royal fleet and Northern fleet."

Jon said in a panicked tone, "Your grace I must advise against military actions. The realm is unstable and the lords…"

Robert interrupted once more, "The only fleets that are moving are the Northern fleet and the Royal fleet. We can afford it. We can fill our coffers doing that, and we can claim the Stepstones for ourselves. I can't see a plausible reason not to carry on with Stannis' and Bran's idea." He got too excited in his lust for war that Jon knew he couldn't persuade him from avoiding it and with Stannis and Brandon supporting it, Jon simply sighed and walked away, "Pycelle, send the Ravens to the Magisters of Lys, Tyrosh and Myr."

Pycelle shuffled, "At once, your grace."

Robert looked down at his belly and muttered, "I need to get into shape…. KINGSLAYER! To the training grounds!"

I shared a smirk with Stannis before walking away to my office.

With the Stepstones invasion, I'll literally control the seas.

* * *

Author Notes;

Another Chapter done.

I really enjoyed writing this one, I hope you enjoyed reading it as well.

More Joffrey interactions next chapter as well as POVs from other Characters on the Small Council.

AN2: I'm quite horrible at writing strategy and large-scale military and naval battles - as evident in the Greyjoy rebellion where I completely avoided it.

So, as always, ideas are appreciated.

If you could also provide me with OC's, SI's and Crossovers that are fun to read and inspiring, I would appreciate it greatly.

IMPORTANT AN;

My reasoning for Brandon to increase the economic efficiency and improving King's Landing is because he's eventually taking over.

He doesn't have a valid casus belli though. He still retains supremacy in military power and that is what basically matters in the long run.

The improvements to King's Landing such as sanitation and renovations won't have a huge political effect on how things go forward, but it'll save time that could be better used in other ventures. Plus he's gotta make a name for himself in the south. Yes, the north has changed radically but the level of communication in ASOIAF is based on hearsay and rumors. By doing this and surpassing even Jahaerys the Wise's improvements in King's Landing, he'll definitely be the first choice to many lords with no allegiance- other than to their liege lords of course.


	18. Chapter 18

_**297 AC, Conquest of the Stepstones.**_

Unexpectedly, Tyrosh and Lys chose to support our venture to, and I quote "banish those barbarian pirate scums out of the seas". Myr has settled with renouncing any responsibility from the raids.

A decade or two in the past, they would have most definitely banded against us and claimed the Stepstones for themselves, but the concessions we allowed them in the region as well as the Stark Family sigil along with the Iron Bank branded on the bottom of the letter of declaration quickly banished any thoughts of going to war with us over these islands.

So, the Royal fleet alongside 100 Northern Ships sailed away across the Narrow Sea for the Conquest of the Stepstones.

It wasn't all as simple as it sounded, almost three months of negotiations with representatives from Tyrosh and Lys to arrange our unified conquest and determine favorable terms for both of us were wasted before we could mobilize the fleets.

In the end it was decided that the 8 out of the 13 Islands on the Stepstones would be controlled by the Iron Throne and the North, while the eastern five islands would belong to Tyrosh and Lys. Some boring other arrangements that involved favorable trade agreements and a toll to safely escort ships through the Stepstones and we were ready to go.

The prince begged repeatedly to accompany us while Cersei screeched in the background about her precious Joffrey. In the end it took Joffrey unsheathing his sword and trampling three knights to convince his father to allow him to accompany him on his personal ship _Robert's Hammer_. The Kingslayer was practically glued to the prince's side following the Queen's orders and he seemed to be developing a friendship with Jon of all people.

The fleet sailed from Shipbreaker bay with the Great Wolf, the Fury and Robert's Hammer leading them.

For now, everyone was gathered at the Great Wolf discussing war plans.

At least, we were trying to.

Stannis gnashed his teeth, "You can't expect me to accept this!"

Brandon shrugged, "Would you prefer to sail through the Stepstones praying that half our fleet isn't lost to the sea and the pirates?"

"He should be tried for his crimes as a pirate!" Stannis yelled with spittle flying from his mouth.

Brandon sighed, "I understand, Lord Stannis. He is a pirate, yes. He may have raped and pillaged and stole. But now, he's our man."

Salladhor Saan stood in the corner flamboyantly smiling without a care in the world, "I would like to add that I am also a smuggler, trader and a banker."

Robert spread his hands and said, "See! It would be a shame to waste a man with many talents such as Sallabor."

"Salladhor," he corrected quietly.

Robert waved his hands, "Whatever."

Stannis asked angrily, "How do you know he's not going to betray us the moment we arrive at the Stepstones?"

Once again Salladhor, who seemed to enjoy infuriating Stannis said with a grin, "Lord Stark is paying me more than I could ever spend in ten lifetimes."

Stannis rounded on Brandon, "I thought Starks were honorable! Hiring Pirates now?"

Before he could continue on his tirade, Brandon interrupted, "Lord Stannis, like it or not, he's guiding our fleet. Now sit down and let us finish the gods-damned plan."

Stannis seethed and sat down silently, although the sound of his teeth grinding was audible.

Brandon hid a smile and said, "Now, Tyrosh and Lys will mobilize and hold the five eastern islands which happen to contain Grey Gallows. My half of the fleet is currently docked at Sunspear waiting to mobilize and join with Lys in subduing the southern islands."

He unfurled a map and indicated routes on it, "I propose that we attack and feign a retreat to make them follow us farther away from the Stepstones and into the open Sea where we can freely wreck their ships without worrying about the wreckage blocking our way."

Stannis looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding, "I can take my fleet and force them out on the Narrow Sea and if Lys could do the same your ships could finish them off quickly and leave them with little to none naval strength."

"Exactly," Brandon nodded, "Any objections?"

"Where will our ship land?" Robert asked gruffly, not caring about prickly naval battles and more focused on fighting on land.

Brandon pointed to the largest island on the map, "Here, Bloodstone. Euron Greyjoy holds it as the King of the Stepstones."

"Good!" Robert said, "I'm going to spar with my boy for a while". Ever since the boy met Brandon, he became calmer and has grown some balls instead of being a prick hiding behind his mother's skirts.

In a surprising change of plans, upon reaching the Stepstones, the fleet found that every pirate lord has gathered his entire fleet and made a blockade to try and block us from landing our troops.

Foolish.

It was a short battle. The air afterwards was stale with the scent of salt and smoke from the still burning ships. Most of the pirates chose to retreat as soon as they saw the largest ship broken into pieces by the cannons but were picked off leisurely by the northern fleet.

Only a few ships have retreated with only fewer that chose to fight.

It was an annihilating victory. 240 ships of them destroyed for only 23 of the Royal Fleet.

Brandon stood on the hull of the Great Wolf watching the Stepstones approaching with every swing of the oars when he felt a presence besides him. An old figure wearing white with white hair and lined features took a seat on the hull looking at the islands with a mixture of solemnity and longing.

"Greeting, Ser Barristan," Brandon said with a slight dip of his head.

He looked over and nodded at Brandon, "Greetings to you as well, Lord Stark,"

They remained in companionable silence for a while just watching as the islands got bigger and bigger until Brandon broke the silence, "Brings back memories?" He asked.

"Aye," Barristan said sighing heavily, "37 years ago, I fought on these islands for King Jaehaerys the second for more than a year."

Brandon nodded, "You slew Maelys the Monstrous in single combat."

Selmy smiled at the memory, "Aye, I did," before shaking his head and telling solemnly, "Mayhaps new heroes and legends would be born today."

Stannis's voice broke out at that moment, "Prepare to land!"

Brandon donned his Wolf helm and shook Barristan's hand, "It will be an honor to fight beside you Ser Barristan."

The forces, which were mostly Stormlanders and Notherners, were quickly dispatched and what looked like the biggest melee in the history of Westeros started. Swords, spears, shields, maces, morningstars and other weaponry clashed against each other before any of the armies could take formation.

"Hold your ground!" Brandon yelled to the soldiers forming a phalanx at the front.

The battlefield the army was engaged on was flat semi-rocky terrain. No defensive positions of any kind to hamper our efforts or launch a counterattack. It was a single decisive battle, unlike the Ninepenny wars.

The ninepenny wars had generals and well-armed and trained troops along with the Golden Company. These were a crude mixture of pirates and Ironborn. They weren't soldiers; they couldn't hold their ground against a cavalry charge.

They were some odd fellows whose only advantage was on the sea. Here? They couldn't even penetrate our front lines.

"Sound the first horn. They're releasing the elephants," Brandon shouted over the chaos of battle.

The vanguard was now moving forward at a slow pace, with 3 rows of reserve following behind, pushing and stabbing at anyone in the way. The elephants were now approaching closer and closer now, with most of the pirates in the front lines retreating and electing to let the elephants stomp us to death.

The elephants were almost 2000 yards away now when Brandon yelled, "NOW!"

A huge booming sound exploded from the docked ships at the same moment, releasing large bolts that exploded on contact with the elephants, burning and tearing through the huge beasts. Whatever elephants survived, they clearly didn't like how this was going. Many of them fell on their backs from the explosion, causing them to crush most of their vanguard underneath them, while others retreated stomping over the archers as well.

In the midst of the chaos and confusion from the destruction of their trump cards, a third horn sounded, announcing the release of the cavalry. The left flank, commanded by Jon and Ramsay and the right flank commanded by Robert and Stannis teared through whatever remained of their numbers. Picking them off leisurly, while forcing the vanguard to either fall back to the northern vanguard or be crushed under their elephants.

After one bloody hour that had the sands of the islands turn into a pool of red, we were ready to take down the walls.

"How long till the walls come down?" Robert asked grinning.

Brandon answered, "Give it an hour."

Trebuchets and siege engines were continuously hammering the walls of the castle that was Daemon Targaryen's seat when he once conquered the Stepstones for himself.

Robert laughed loudly, "After we take down this pirate infested islands we're going to have a tourney that'll rival Harrenhall's!"

"I've already sent orders to prepare for the largest tourney in the history of Westeros at Winterfell," Brandon said grinning, "I hope you don't mind, your grace. But I wasn't overly worried about this conquest."

"It'll be good to visit the North after all this time," He shook his head somberly and said, "This is a disgrace not a battle. They have no supplies. No tactics, no reinforcements. Absolutely nothing!"

"The Wildlings beyond the wall fight in a more organized fashion than these men do," Brandon said grinning, "These men hold no allegiance to any lord. All they care about is their own personal fortune and wealth."

"Aye, they have no reason to fight."

At that moment a rock fired from the trebuchet tore down the wall and signaled for the vanguard to start taking the castle.

"Not joining, your grace?" Brandon asked.

Robert laughed loudly, "I'm not as young as I used to be. Leave the glory and honor of the vanguard to you youngsters."

Many leaders elect to issue commands from the back instead of standing at the front of the vanguard to be picked off by a lucky arrow. However, this wasn't a leader. This was Robert Baratheon, the man who personally leaded his troops in the rebellion and was at the front of every battle. He must have been really fucked up to feel tired after an hour of fighting.

I closed my visor, "See you after the battle then."

He laughed heartily and waved me off.

Most of the pirates that had rushed out of the broken wall had been already dead so Brandon faced no opposition as he casually strolled into the castle. As the men went to secure the rooms and fight off whatever remained of the parts. Brandon found his target, casually killing three Stormlanders with one slash of his axe, laughing maniacally.

As soon as Euron's eye landed on the Wolf helm he snarled, "You!"

Brandon unsheathed his sword and just stood waiting for the last Greyjoy to attack. As expected, his addled mind fueled with rage made Euron rush dumbly striking furiously at Brandon which he dodged and replied with one of his own.

Euron parried the strike and slashed while screaming at Brandon at which he parried and countered while occasionally slicing his exposed body.

The old Greyjoy has clearly wasted away whatever breath he had and stood snarling furiously with blood rushing out under his armor and with one last yell of rage he lunged at Brandon, which he sidestepped and allowed his sword to stab through Euron's armor causing him to fall limp with the look of rage plastered on his dead face.

Brandon wiped off the blood on the Greyjoy's cloth and muttered, "That was disappointing."

As the rest of his men ran away securing the remaining pirates and ending any form of resistance, Brandon allowed a self-satisfied smirk to appear on his face. It was a Gryffindor-ish victory, but a victory nonetheless.

* * *

Robert stood in front of the men, knighting soldiers for their valor when the last two finally arrived.

"I know the Northerners don't care much for knighting but perhaps there is something else I could do for you two," he said smirking, "Kneel."

Jon's eyes widened as he realized what the king was saying while Ramsay knelt clueless as always and asked, "Didn't he just say he won't knight us?"

"In reward for your service in the conquest of the Stepstones, I, Robert of House Baratheon, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, announce you Ramsay Bolton and Jon Stark, from this day until your last."

Ramsay stood with a maniac smile on his face that usually told me that he was off to do a depravity or another but this time it was simply his happy face while Jon stood with grateful eyes and slightly swaying.

"Now!" Robert boomed, "Let's drink for our new addition in Westeros!"

The men cheered in acceptance and exchanged hearty slaps on each other backs, congratulating each other.

I would have much preferred to overtake it with a more Slytherin approach as it proved to be the most useful and less bloody but this wasn't one of the free cities, more of a pirate nest.

"Have you decided on what to do with the Stepstone's your grace?" Stannis asked as Robert fondled one of the freed servants who happily served us.

"Huh?" Robert asked befuddled, "Do what?"

Stannis hissed, "Who will rule the Stepstone's, Robert?"

"Oh that right!" Robert said straightening up, "Lord Stark suggested that it would belong to the Crownlands and you rule it."

Stannis had a ghost of a smile and nodded at Brandon.

Robert took no notice and continued, "This is your last chance, Stannis. You would be controlling trade between North and South the Narrow Sea. It doesn't have levies but it's a good trading point. Don't. Fuck. This. Up!"

Any memory of Stannis's smile disappeared as he bowed his head with a quickly reddening face and ground out, "Of course, your grace."

No wonder the brothers hated each other. Stannis was too strict to Robert's tastes, and Robert continuously humiliated Stannis over allowing the Targaryens to escape Dragonstone.

Robert looked around until his eyes landed on Jon and said loudly, "Here's the champ! Get your ass over here!"

Jon approached us with a smile on his face and Robert asked, "What are you going to do after we go back home, Lord _Stark_!"

"I'm going to act as a Steward in Winterfell for a while to train before assuming my new duties at Azkaban, your grace." Jon said, his smile widening at the Stark name.

Robert frowned, "Wasn't that supposed to go to your unlce, Benjen?"

Brandon interjected with a frustrated tone, "It should have, but he denied it, choosing to expand his ever growing empire of brothels.

Robert boomed out laughing, "Nothing like Ned then, eh?"

"Not at all, your grace." Brandon said.

"I have to say the whores' qualities have improved ever since Benjen took over," he laughed loudly, "I'm going to have to personally thank him when we visit Winterfell."

Brandon just smiled and said nothing.

Robert was getting a bit drunk and continued talking, "Your style in fighting reminds me of Ned," he told Jon, "Who's sword is that?"

"Ice," he said proudly, "Valyrian Steel."

"Ah," Robert said, "The Starks have a dozen of those now! Ned used to fight with that same one during the rebellion."

It seemed that Robert was falling back in the mood of the rebellion, "We lost a lot of good men. Your father and Grandfather and Lyanna…" he finished lowly.

"It was the will of the gods, your grace." Jon said, "We've took our revenge. Rhaeger and his mad father are dead."

"Not all of them, no," Robert said growling.

Brandon interjected quietly, "Perhaps we could have this conversation at another time, your grace. Now is the time for festivities and celebration."

Robert shook his head as if to clear his memories and nodded sagely. Needless to say his mood remained somber for the remaining of the festivities.

As our troops began boarding back on the ships, a messenger approached us and rasped out, "Your grace, the hand of the king has passed away a week ago."

Robert face fell quickly and I held back a sigh. Having Robert as a king meant that not much changed that his foster father was dead, sure he mourned, but Robert's solution for everything involved getting increasingly drunk and passing out. Instead of cancelling the tourney as I predicted, Robert announced that the tourney was going to be held in honor of Lord Arryn's services to the realm and the conquest of Stepstones.

This was going to be tiresome.

* * *

 _ **Moat Cailin, The North.**_

Catelyn thought she would be used to the North after her years of marriage with her husband but yet, she felt a stranger whenever she entered the Godswood.

She was a Tully of Riverrun, where the godswood was a garden not unlike the others. Tall redwoods grew spreading their shadows over the ground, birds sang from hidden nests and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers.

Moat Cailin's godswood couldn't be more different.

At first, she was suitably disappointed that she wouldn't be the Lady of the North due to the appearance of Brandon's son, but as a Tully, she remained true her family's words. Family, Duty and Honor.

Almost two decades ago, Moat Cailin was nothing more than a deserted ruin in the middle of nowhere. Its towers have been broken and forgotten to the time. The smell of swamps and bogs filling the castle and barely a thousand souls lived in the castle and town surrounding it.

But that soon changed as well. Workers from Winterfell arriving with the new liquid rock that Ned's nephew invented. Ned was smiling softly the entire time. She knew her nephew made him proud and she was adamant that she would provide heirs that would make her husband even more proud. In no time, the castle grew and the swamps cleared from around the castle. The road was fixed and the new harbor that grew was soon landing ships from all across Westeros and Essos at the middle of the Great Canal at Moat Cailin.

Day by day, the castle changed. Its towers rose to their own proud heights. It's walls scrubbed clean and direwolf banners proudly displayed on its walls.

Where once the castle had less than a thousand souls, it now held 30,000 at any time, almost rivaling White Harbor. Ships that deposited its cargo at their port to deliver it to the far north and south, men seeking work and her husband even built her a new sept which had an unfortunate accident that caused it to break down.

And then the blasted Greyjoy rebellion happened. Her precious Sansa was playing happily at the port and the docks, seeing all the new wares that the foreign merchants delivered, when five Ironborn ships disguised as merchant ships set the port on fire and took whomever they could as thralls. Luckily, they recognized Sansa as a noble and took her as a hostage without actually harming her little girl. She didn't know what she would've done if they had harmed her.

Then her nephew through marriage happened. It's said that the Annihilation of Pyke was so terrible that you could still hear the screams of the Ironborn on the islands as they died within their own crumbling castles. But he proved more than a slightly intelligent child and he brought back her daughter unharmed. Till this day, Sansa won't shut up about her cousin.

She didn't know whether to be angry at him for insulting her father or elated that he took away the only thing that was murking her relationship with Ned. Jon Snow. After calming down, she figured that he was only doing his duty to his family, like any Tully would, so she couldn't hold him responsible but he hasn't won any love with her father after that incident but at least the bastard was gone.

Robb at first missed him, but quickly grew up and eventually got used to life without him. She was blessed with five beautiful children who were growing up to be great. Robb and his brothers Rickon and Bran who was named after his cousin and uncle, Sansa and her little sister Arya who would like nothing more than to wear a sword on her tiny waist instead of being a proper lady like Sansa.

All of that, didn't change the fact that whenever she entered the Godswood, she was freaked out and wanted nothing better than getting out of there as soon as she could.

Ned was there, praying to the Old Gods as was his routine every week, as he found peace in the creepy faces that were supposedly carved by the children of the forest.

In the south the last weirwoods had been cut down or burned out a thousand years ago, except on the Isle of Faces where the green men kept their silent watch. Up here it was different. Here every castle had its godswood, and every godswood had its heart tree, and every heart tree its face.

Catelyn found her husband beneath the weirwood, seated on a moss-covered stone, his eyes closed in content at the stillness of the godswood in comparison to the bustling port and city.

"Ned," she said softly as to not spook out her husband.

He opened his eyes softly, "Catelyn," and straightened up against the weirwood tree, "Are the children okay?"

She nodded, "The girls are with the Septa and Robb is practicing with Bran on his Archery."

He nodded in acceptance and waited for her to talk about the subject she came for, there was no way to soften the blow, so she told him straight. "I am so sorry, my love. Jon Arryn is dead."

His eyes found hers, and she could see how hard it took him. In his youth, he was fostered at the Eyrie where Jon Arryn became a second father to him and Robert Baratheon.

He closed his eyes and pain and asked," Your sister? And her boy?"

"She's well, and has returned to the Eyrie," She said softly.

"They're still holding the tourney?" Ned asked distantly.

"Aye," She said, "In honor of Lord Arryn's services and the victory of the Stepstones."

He chuckled dryly, "Robert always found a way to keep his tourneys going."

"It's not his tourney though," she said, "your nephew is the one who's holding it."

He shook his head in exasperation, "A waste of money and time that is. How long till we depart?"

She stood up and brushed her dress from the leaves that lingered on it, "A week more, until we move. Sansa is excited to see the fancy banners and has been dying to go everytime a party passes through crossing, while Arya and the boys are excited for the melee and the jousting."

Ned smiled softly, "She has the wolfblood in her cat, just like Lyanna and Brandon."

Catelyn has asked Maester Luwin before what the Wolf's blood was and he told her that it was a myth from the Age of Heroes. That some Starks had wolf blood in them, causing them to be adventurous and have fast tempers, she supposed that fit how Arya was exactly.

"What's in the other letter?" Ned asked, noticing the other scroll in her hand.

"A letter," she said sighing, "From your nephew."

Ned frowned at her picking up her changed mood, "What does it say?"

"Just making sure you'll come to the tourney and informing you about the success of the Stepstones," She swallowed the lump in her throat and said, "Also about Jon Snow."

"What of him?" Ned asked with a slight edge in his voice, "Has he been harmed?"

She shook her head, "No, my love. He has been….legitimized for his services and actions in the conquest, as well as appointed the future lord of Azkaban."

Ned smiled and his eyes softened, "That's wonderful news."

"Wonderful?" She snapped, "Why not one of our children? What if the bastard tries to usurp Robb?"

Ned as usual spoke calmly with a raised eyebrow, "Robb is going to be the Lord of Moat Cailin when I die and Bran is going to be the Lord of Riverrun. Rickon can have a holdfast anywhere in the North if I asked Brandon. Why would Jon usurp Robb when his fief is the largest port in the North as well as being on the other side of the North?"

"Isn't one of our children more worthy of such an important fief?" She asked angrily, "Why would a bastard have it?"

Ned's eyes hardened and she could feel he was getting slightly angered, "He is a Stark now, by the orders of the King, and he's of my blood. Drop the subject, Cat."

She huffed angrily and left, "Very well, my lord."

Ned just shook his head and closed his eyes, resting back on the weirwood tree to enjoy the renewed calmness after his wife left.

 _Typical Tully's, all the sense of a fish in boiling water._

* * *

 _Author Notes;_

 _Next Chapter with everything starting!_

 _Please review and suggest on the interactions as well as ideas for the tourney!_

I still haven't decided whether to mostly go with Canon and leave the political stuff largely untouched or to just fuck it all!

So Suggest!


	19. Chapter 19

_**Ned's POV**_

"I do believe that I can manage to find my way to my old home by myself, little brother," Ned said smirking slightly.

"I doubt you'll recognize Winterfell now," Benjen said as he smiled widely and embraced his brother tightly, "I also thought I could get a head start and see my nieces and nephews," He moved forward and was introduced to the children, "This is Robb, Bran and Rickon."

Benjen shook each of their hands and asked, "Shouldn't young Bran be at Riverrun by now?"

The boy deflated at the mention of his fostering and Ned replied, "Lord Tully will take him back after the tourney." He moved on to the girls, "This is Sansa," the red-haired girl curtsied perfectly, "and Arya."

Unlike her older sister, Arya curtsied flamboyantly and asked eagerly, "Is it true you have direwolve companions?"

Benjen grinned widely at her, "You're so much like Lyanna," Ned smiled sadly at the mention of his sister, "And yes we do, but mine is currently playing with his brothers back at the castle."

The girl drooped slightly at which Benjen chuckled lightly, "Don't worry little pup, you'll get to see half a hundred grown direwolves and twice that many pups at Winterfell."

The girl and her brothers' eyes lit with excitement and nodded eagerly.

"Lady Catelyn," Benjen said distantly yet polite.

She curtsied, "My lord."

"Shall we get going then? You can see Winterfell after the next hill," Benjen said.

Ned nodded and gestured for his children to re-mount their carriage and horses.

"How's Winterfell brother?" Ned asked after a while.

Benjen smiled mysteriously, "You'll see."

Ned chuckled, "Very well then. What about Brandon and Jon?"

"I haven't seen them in almost 2 years," Benjen said dejectedly, "You have no idea how boring it gets back there all alone."

Ned raised an eyebrow, "You're supposed to be ruling Winterfell while Brandon is down south. Surely that takes some time."

Benjen waved his hands, "We have an army of Maesters that take care of almost everything. Most of the time, they send ravens back and forth to Brandon for approval or any news. If anything demands my immediate presence, I go. But it doesn't happen so often."

Ned nodded thoughtfully, "I take it you use your free time managing your businesses?"

"Yes, Ned. That's exactly what I do," He said tiredly, he could feel a headache coming.

Sure enough, Ned exploded the next moment. Not loud enough for the rest of the party to hear, but loud for Ned Stark, "It's shameful and dishonorable! Whores Benjen! Really? Do you think father would be proud if he sees his youngest son like this?" he said.

Benjen rolled his eyes and let Ned continue on his tirade, "I can't believe you! Men come to our docks singing praises for Benjen "The Procurer" Stark. A brothel in every town in every kingdom, they say. Are you proud of yourself? You should be married and settle in a keep of your own instead of doing such disgraceful acts. In fact, I'm talking to Brandon about this, the moment I arri…"

"Jon?" Benjen asked, interrupting Ned mid-tirade.

"Uncle Benjen," he said as he smiled widely and looked at his father,"…and father."

Ned smiled softly at his son that he hasn't seen in many years, "Jon."

Jon greeted Ned's wife with an arrogant smirk that served to infuriate her, and a polite yet distant welcome to Robb and the rest of his brothers and sisters.

"Why are you here though?" Benjen asked frowning, "I would've thought that you'd be resting before the tourney starts."

Jon shook his head, "Bran was finishing up something or another and Ramsay was meeting with his father. I went out with the guards to deal with the bandits that have been reported to ambush a couple of knights here."

Benjen nodded, "Calling the entire roadguard back to protect the city has left the bandits free roam."

"Indee…" Jon suddenly tensed for a moment, straining his ears to hear something.

One of the guards yelled, "Archers!"

The guards moved to protect Ned's family with their shields and Jon took cover behind a tree, before unsheathing his sword and charging at the first bandit that attacked.

After slashing and tearing through some of the bandits it became apparent that they outnumbered them after taking out most of the guards with their crossbows and arrows.

"Drop your sword you little cunt," the burly man with mismatched armor said as 20 other bandits appeared from the bushes and woods, most pointing their loaded crossbows and arrows at them.

Jon smiled at him as he slowly put the sword to the ground, he could hear Sansa and Rickon shaking in fear behind him and his father and uncle laying down their swords as well, "You have no fucking idea who I am, do you?"

"Don' give a fuck if you're the bloody king himself. If you don' wan' the lil' ladies to die, stand the fuck down." He yelled.

Jon just smiled infuriating the man even further, "Make peace with your gods. I'll kill you in the cruelest way ever."

The bandit just scoffed at Jon, "And how are you going to do that you lil' cunt huh, by sucking our cocks to hard?"

The rest of his companions laughed and Jon simply grinned evilly at him and shook his head, "No, like this," and he whistled loudly.

The bandits looked around them, waiting for guards to appear. When the nothing happened, the grizzly scared man spit on the ground, "Shut the fuck up and give us yo…-"

At that moment ten direwolves appeared from behind the bushes, fully armored with spiked pointing out of their armor, cutting down any bandit with their claws and teeth and shrugging off the bolts fired at them. Ghost, Jon's direwolf, ran towards the leader and bit his head off, throwing his body to the other side.

Unfortunately, a man managed to sneak by them in the commotion and said trembling, "Let m-me go or…or I'll kill her," he said holding a dagger on Lady Catelyn's throat.

"Cat," Ned growled and went forward but was stopped by the bandit pressing the dagger even further on her neck.

"Call those beasts off!" He yelled hysterically, "I swear I'll slit her throat."

Jon whistled two short whistles followed by a long one causing the wolves to stop dead in their tracks and just growl softly in the man's direction.

"Now, gimme one of your horses. I'll take off and you can have the bitch ba…" The man took a look behind him to see where he was going and was promptly awarded with a flying dagger to the throat that landed a hair away from Catelyn's face.

"Stupid fuckers," Jon muttered as he went to retrieve his dagger.

The lady of Moat Cailin stood in shock , blood covered as blood continued to sprout out of the man's throat and Ned ran to her quickly, "Cat… CAT! Are you okay?"

She broke out of her shock and nodded silently as her husband hugged her and rubbed circles on her back.

Ned looked back to Jon and nodded in thanks at which Jon simply smiled at him.

"Well, this was fun," Benjen said cheerfully, "Time to go to Winterfell."

* * *

Winterfell and Wintercity were facing an influx of lords and ladies and knights from all over the Seven Kingdoms. All day and night, caravans and parties were flowing into the city that was considered the grandest in all Seven Kingdoms, only comparable to the Free Cities. Each time a lord entered, the guards did as was ordered and hung their banner on the walls. The gates were open non-stop, allowing thousands of Sell-swords and knights, each wearing their armor and displaying whatever house they belonged to. As far as the eye could see, tents of all colours and sizes dotted the massive clearing that had been set aside for the tourney.

Nobles and people of importance were allowed lodgings inside the castle. You could see the banners of houses from all over Westeros hanging on the wall, with the Vale being suspiciously absent; only 8 houses have bothered showing up, and they were ones of First Men descent.

The tourney due to its massive size was decided to be hosted on a narrow circular valley with steep hills on the side for seating. Stands were erected all around the clearing which would host the jousts and the battles to provide a perfect view from all sides and allow almost a million persons to watch the grandest tourney of all time as it was called.

It was certainly lavish… and extremely expensive. The preparations for the tourney cost no small amount of gold and the prizes were the largest ever seen in the history of Westeros.

Seventy thousand golden dragons for the winners of the melee, which wasn't going to be a traditional melee, instead it was decided that it was going to be a series of battles in a double elimination tournament. Out of the three thousand men who would be entering the lists only two will remain. In the few first days, multiple battles will be held simultaneously to prevent wasting time on fights that won't interest anyone. As soon as 64 men remain, each battle will be held at a time. It was the first of its kind in Westeros and yet, men were pouring at a chance to win the gold or prove their mettle infront of all the lords.

Unlike the tourney of Harrenhal, where the jousting took most of the time, this tourney will take almost 3 weeks; only 1 of them will be allocated to the jousting. Of course, other entertainment will be available between battles. Horse races and the new chariot races that Lord Stark planned to introduce, a circus to boast the weirdest creatures from as far as Sothorys, an archery contest, knive and axe throwing and juggling, wrestling, hammer throwing. They even brought Minstrels and Troubadours, acrobats and jugglers and conjurers, many of them from the Free Cities to show the different cultures of Essos.

The amount of time spent on preparing the tourney wasn't the thing that was shocking Brandon Stark at the moment, no it was the fact that the moment he entered his grand city to find a large Sept, a huge Red Temple and a few other minor temples all with their different worshipers and priests walking around the city. First Men, Andals, Summer Islanders, Ghiscari, Naathi, Rhoynar, Ibbenese, Sarnori, as well as pure-blooded Valyrians were walking around intermingling with each other and not regarding each other oddly.

"How come I wasn't informed of this?" Brandon asked Marwyn, his secretary of sorts with a calm face that didn't show how he truly felt on the subject.

Marwyn frowned, "My lord, it is normal that with such a huge influx of merchants and foreigners that those temples to allow their worships are built."

With the relatively new acceptance of new peoples and their cultures and views, the formerly brisk and strict Northmen saw that there are in fact alternatives to what they were taught as children and so understand that perhaps there is another way to how things are done.

The Firstmen were heavily influenced by the hundreds of thousands of Andals and Essosi that flooded into the North continuously. It was no wonder they became so… accepting.

Brandon shook his head ruefully, he had completely missed the political and cultural ramifications of mending the gap between Essos and the North and the influx of trade in it. All wasn't ruined however. Perhaps promoting religious diversity and tolerance would be a better way to do things.

He couldn't believe he missed this. The Firstmen were firmly entrenched in their beliefs because they were practically isolated from the rest of the world in their cold and dreary North. Now with the North becoming a military and trade center of the world, and Winterfill and Wintercity that was being heralded as the "Tenth Free City" by some Essosi and Magisters and was japed about as "The Black Heart of Westeros", it was unsurprising that people would lose their close-minded thinking and accept diversion.

Some of the Lords' no matter their wealth now, remained firmly in the Old Ways'. The heirs would be more accepting of his decision that would be announced. A district of the Gods' would be dedicated besides the Godswood, where all temples of worships were going to be built at. A declaration would be issued that all religions are tolerated in the North as long as they don't pose a threat towards the Kingdoms' security, that no god would be more honored than any other, and all men and women are free to worship whatever god they chose to follow without persecution.

He would have to actively enforce the new law but it would hopefully prevent the power of the Faith from growing too far or any other religion for that matter. Destroying places of worships would be considered tyranny and it was a headache that he could do without.

"Is there anything else I should be notified about?"

Marwyn furrowed his brows in thought before answering, "A couple of Essosi magisters have attended as well as the First Sword of Braavos. Ah, and it seems that the Targaryens have taking shelter in Illyrio Mopatis' manse, a trade partner of ours in Pentos."

"Robert is going to be pissed," Brandon sighed, thinking of Robert Baratheon's legendary hate of anything slightly draconic.

Marwyn said, "We're keeping an eye on them my lord."

"Very well," Brandon nodded. He had a whole district in every city in Westeros and in most of Essos dedicated solely to the North. Magisters and Lords found that the discounts and easy accessibility of many Northern goods outweighed losing a small block of buildings on their lands to the Northmen, "Send a raven to the High Septon, and inform him that I would like to meet with him as soon as I arrive back at King's Landing."

"At once, my lord." Marwyn said getting up.

Brandon interrupted him before he could leave, "Have all the Great Houses made an appearance?"

"House Arryn is oddly silent, my lord. Only Ser Vardis and a few odd knights have arrived." Marwyn replied.

Brandon frowned. He knew from his spies that Lysa was slightly… Actually she was completely and utterly crazy. No one expected her to bring her sickly little child, but this small of an emissary was considered a tad insulting to some.

"Make sure our men at the Vale inform us of the situation, tell them to shadow Lysa closely and try to find out what is her true reason of not coming."

Marwyn nodded and hesitated slightly, "If I may, my lord. It might be that the Lady Arryn might be simply distraught over her husband's death. She wasn't known for being the most rational person and it might have been that her husband's passing coupled with the past miscarriages has made her strongly protective over her child."

Brandon had to concede that point but nevertheless answered, "There's something more to this. I expected a large amount of knights to appear from the Vale. It's held in honor of their past liege lord. Just do as I say."

Marwyn nodded quickly and exited the private office.

Brandon gazed around his office. While the castle exterior was mostly Gothic in appearance, the interior was entirely neo-classical. High roofs and large elaborate and extremely expensive and ancient painting, sparkling candelabra, marble columns, sumptuous carpets, the best ironwood furniture with intricate and detailed carvings, that is so polished that you can see your reflection on it, sculptures of animals and past lords.

The most prominent part of the castle was the Entrance Hall that led to the Great Hall directly, one hundred foot long and forty foot wide, with doors leading to different rooms from both sides. Along the hallway, statuses –proper ones- were carved by the best sculptors in the whole world of every Stark King, Lord and some honorary statuses as well. We had most of them copied from the ones at the crypts, but these ones were extremely detailed and beautiful. Each of them had a plaque under it with the name of the owner of the statue. A long carpet that had the whole history of the North depicted on it from beginning till now was laid on the ground, as well as huge chandeliers that hung high in the ceiling, illuminating the whole hallway. At the end of the hallway stands an impressive double balustrade with an intricate pattern of direwolves, weirwood trees and weapons, allowing entry to the Great Hall.

A knock interrupted Brandon's musings, the servant girl who was blushing timidly said, "My lord, Lord Eddard and his family have arrived."

Brandon smiled at her and her blush intensified. Most lords would've slept with half the servants in the castle by now. But oddly enough, he remained celibate. It was just that they weren't that beautiful. He had higher standards. But this one was looking oddly beautiful for a maid. Quite a good petite figure, pert tits and a nice round arse.

As I took my eyes off her body, I looked her in the eyes and her face got even redder and smirked, "I'm sure Uncle Ned can wait for a while."

* * *

 _ **The Lannister's,**_

Cersei entered this railroad carriage with grace and arrogance only a Lannister could replicate. The road until the Northern borders was dreadful. Those bloody Riverlanders used the rivers to transport goods and therefore, the roads went into decay, causing her carriage to stumble and creak loudly.

"Daughter," a voice intoned from inside, causing her to stumble a bit.

Tywin Lannister sat inside on one of the chairs, his eyes never leaving the book yet addressing her, "It took you long enough."

Cersei guided in Tommen and Myrcella and took a chair and said, "Father."

They remained in an uncomfortable silence for a bit. Typical Tywin Lannister. Ever since she was a young girl she remembered her father letting her stew in front of him, never once paying any attention until he finished whatever he was doing. It was his way of showing superiority over whoever was addressing him.

"I have sent Kevan with the rest of the Westerlander lords and knights and remained behind with my personal guard to receive you." He said, finally putting the book down.

Cersei blinked, that was odd, "It was… not necessary but thank you, father."

Tywin just nodded, "I heard Joffrey went with his father to the Stepstones along with Jaime."

At the mention of her son, Cersei straightened proudly, "My Joffrey is a true lion, fighting battles and winning wars at his age."

"It was more of a farce than a conquest," Tywin snorted, "The Northern fleet destroyed any resistance, and pirates aren't well known for their discipline on land. It would be a matter of whether Stannis Baratheon and the Stark boy could hold it unlike their predecessors or not."

Cersei couldn't understand where this was going; her father wasn't the one to chat unnecessarily. So he must have a reason to talk about this particular topic.

Tywin, as if aware of her thoughts asked, "Do you think they're going to hold it, daughter?"

Cersei answered uncertainly, "I don't consider myself an expert on military conquests, father."

Tywin threw her a dark look and said, "The answer is yes. A fool can see that this time it's going to be different," he added, "Tell me everything you know of the Stark boy!"

She frowned, "What of the Stark boy? Joffrey likes him, yes. But he's still a barbarian Northener…"

Tywin interrupted almost hissing at her, "Cersei, I did not ask for your sage wisdom and philosophy. Answer the question."

Cersei flushed and twirled the wine in her cup thoughtfully, gathering her thoughts as to not appear like an idiot infront of her father, "He's a good Master of Coin. I don't believe another could've paid off the kingdom's debts this way. He's the Master of Coin and Work as well, actually."

Tywin raised an eyebrow and she added, "You haven't been to King Landing's for a few years, I know. He pressed Jon Arryn into allowing him the position and responsibilities," She shook her head, "Completely transformed the city. The odor of shit is completely gone, fresh water and fountains all around the city, replaced and reconnected the sewage system."

"What about this Great Fire they're talking off," Tywin said now frowning deeply.

"He bought the burned land completely off Robert. I don't know the particular number but it was enough to pay off almost all the debtors except for you. The new "Wolf Hill" as they call it truly belongs to a capital instead of the shit infested slums the Targaryens left," She smiled suddenly as if she had a brilliant idea, "We should buy Visenya's Hill and call it the Lion's hill, father."

Tywin threw her a dark look and frowned, "You haven't given me any information that I don't know."

Cersei replied, "Why would I care about counting coppers and investments? I'm busy raising the strongest king that'll ever sit on the Iron Throne, father," Smiling proudly at the thought of her young lion.

"The problem isn't in the 3 million dragons that he bought the Hill with, the problem is in how in the Seven Hills he managed to build and pay for this much buildings! It's said that they're the finest in the Seven Kingdoms, the only place where better buildings are is in Winterfell" He said to his naïve daughter.

Cersei huffed, "So? The North is still the least populous kingdom of the Seven. I doubt that a wildling from the North is going to cause us any problems, we're the Lannisters, father." She said, secretly proud of giving the "we're lannisters" to her father.

Tywin looked at her blankly, "It seems that you're severly uninformed. The North is the strongest and… richest kingdom in Westeros now."

Cersei waved her hands dismissively, "Rumors from drunkards. Surely the great Lion of the Rock doesn't put faith in rumors." She said smirking, which quickly dropped from her face when her father snarled.

"Look for yourself," he yanked the curtains strongly almost ripping off the fabric.

Cersei looked outside the window and to her astonishment the carriage was actually moving, she didn't even feel it take off.

She smiled widely, no more bumpy long rides. She could sleep all the way to Winterfell if she so wished so. She was going to order Lord Stark to build her railroad to Casterly Rock and inside King's Landing the moment she sees him. Her smart Joffrey always knew how to pick good friends, she though happily.

As she voiced her thoughts to her father, he couldn't help but look ruefully at the aqueducts, temples, vast green lands and towns made of fused stone and smallfolk living as if they were landed knights. Typical of Cersei to not look intently and focus on such a silly matter as less bumpy rides, he thought.

Although it was remarkably comfortable, he thought as he gazed around the huge carriage that was more of a room in a castle with strong beautiful ironwood furniture and draperies.

He could get to work without wasting time, and figure out why the hell Pycelle wasn't talkative as he was before. Perhaps send Gregor to remind Pycelle exactly who was Tywin Lannister.

For now, he'll have to deal with his daughter's stupidity, and try to re-consolidate Lannister power in the Capital.

Today would be the first real test for the young wolf. That Stark boy reminded him of himself quite a lot actually. If only Jaime could've been like him instead of choosing to become a glorified bodyguard with the derogatory title. "Kingslayer" he thought, his lips curling in distaste. Yet, he still chooses to serve on the Kingsguard.

Utter and complete foolishness, Tywin thought.

All will have to wait until they reach this so called "The Tenth Free City in Westeros"

* * *

 _ **AN:/**_

 _ **So, I hope you liked this Chapter. You could expect the tourney to stretch over for the next 2 or 3 chapters. Also, you can expect that the Dothraki wedding is delayed a year as all the subsequent events in Essos.**_

 _ **PLEASE REVIIEW! Looking forward to hit the 1,000 mark!**_


	20. Chapter 20

_**Winterfell**_

Brandon walked outside the castle's gates just in time to greet all the members of his family. He greeted with a bright grin, "Uncle Ned, and the rest of the family!"

Ned engulfed Bran in a hug, "It's good to see you nephew."

Brandon patted him on the back and went to Lady Catelyn who still looked a little pale –he had gotten news of their little encounter with the bandits-, "Lady Catelyn," he went down to kiss her knuckles.

She nodded her head, "My lord."

"Ahhh! And here are the little Starks… and Robb," Brandon said grinning.

Robb had an apprehensive look on his face as he hesitantly approached Brandon.

Brandon frowned and turned around to find that Nagini has been following him with Severus curled around her.

Brandon smiled at them, "Don't worry, they're harmless."

Nagini growled at that moment causing them to stumble a step back.

Brandon slapped her on the nose causing her to whine like a small puppy.

Robb approached softly and clasped Brandon hands, "It's good to see you, Lord Stark."

Brandon had a weird look on his face, "I get enough of 'Lord Stark' from everyone in the Seven Kingdoms, call me Brandon. We're cousins."

Robb nodded, losing the serious look on his face that he's been forcing and grinning back at Brandon.

"Lady Sansa, your beauty has grown from the last time I've seen you," Brandon said roguishly smiling at her.

She blushed heavily and curtsied, "Th- Thank you, My lo- Brandon."

He moved on to the next girl, who looked away from the wolf with a look of awe and wonder, "You must be Lady Arya."

Her face contorted in disgust at the Lady part but she curtsied at the sharp look from her mother, "Do you have any other wolves?" She asked excitedly.

Brandon nodded, "They have just returned from the hunt and should be at the kennels." He raised an eyebrow, "You want one?"

She nodded eagerly along with the other young boys at whom he chuckled, "Are you sure a direwolf is a good companion for a lady such as yourself?"

She met his gaze defiantly, "Yes."

He smiled wider at her, "From the stories I've heard, you're just like Aunt Lyanna was."

She didn't know whether he was complimenting her or not so she asked impatiently, "So do we got one or not?"

He chuckled at her, "We'll go to the kennels after you've settled in and pick one for each of you, does that please my lady?"

She nodded her head imperiously, causing Brandon to chuckle once more.

"And our very own Brandon Stark!" Brandon said causing the boy to break out in a soft smile.

Brandon got on his knees to get to the boy's level and said lowly, "There's a legend that says at least one in five Starks must be named Brandon, or the wall will fall."

The little kid's eye widened, "Really?"

Brandon said, "Of course not, that's ridiculous."

The boy's face fell and Brandon got up dusting off his robes.

He called for a servant, "She'll show your rooms. Settle in and we can meet later."

Ned nodded and his children and family went to follow him before he stopped and asked, "Where's Robert?"

Brandon and Benjen smiled, "His grace is currently… engrossed in an important matter."

"Matters pertaining…?" Ned asked.

"The welfare and continued prosperity of the Seven Kingdoms." Benjen said briefly.

Ned sighed deeply, "He's with whores isn't he?"

They chuckled in response as Ned went on his way shaking his head in disappointment.

"Your grace," A voice called from behind.

Brandon turned, "Jory! Is there anything wrong?" Jory's family, the Cassels, has served the Starks faithfully for generations. With the Starks rise to grandness, they were rewarded as well, getting a piece of land below Long Lake. Their income comes from the timber in the wolfswood and some from farming. His uncle Rodrick rules the lands while Jory remained loyal, serving as the head of the –much grander- guard of the Starks.

"No, my lord," he shook his head, "I'm just informing you that the men the king has brought from the Stormlands have been integrated temporarily with us, and bringing you this…" He finished holding out a letter.

"Thank you, Jory." He said rolling out the parchment.

Jory nodded at the dismissal and left.

Brandon read the letter and with every word his frown intensified.

Benjen saw his nephew's face and asked, "Something wrong?"

"A letter from the Lord Commander of the Wall," Brandon said, rolling back the parchment and placing it in his pockets.

"It seems that the Freefolk are gathering under a new King-Beyond-The-Wall, a former brother, Mance Rayder."

Benjen frowned, "The Wall is fully manned, what is it that he needs?"

Brandon waved him off, "The number of deserters and lost rangers has almost doubled last month. I'll make sure to inform Lord Umber to increase his men patrolling to make sure no wildling passes this far south."

"That much deserters?" Benjen asked.

"Aye," he nodded, "It may be nothing. The third legion is leaving and some may have gotten bolder with the brief emptiness of the Wall between rounds."

* * *

Brandon, Jon, Benjen and Robert were gathered in the private dining room, waiting for Ned to arrive.

"Mine was some Tarly boy at the battle of Summerhall. My horse took an arrow, so I was on foot slogging through the mud. He came running at me, this dumb highborn lad, thinking he could end the rebellion with a single swing of his sword. I knocked him down with the hammer. Gods, I was strong then! Caved in his breastplate, probably shattered every rib he had, stood over him, hammer in the air. Right before I brought it down, he shouted "Wait, wait", Robert said chuckling to himself.

"Sharing war stories, are we?" A voice said from the door.

Ned was standing at the doorway looking as Stark as he could be.

Robert looked at him and approached him until they were an arm away, "Lord Stark."

Ned took a moment and bowed his head, "Your grace."

They spent a moment looking at each other before they broke out in laughter and embraced each other, "Seventeen years Ned! Where the hell have you been?"

Ned smiled, "Holding the gate of the North for my nephew."

"Ah! The mighty Moat Cailin with its 20 staggering towers and walls that a dragon can't take down." Robert said theatrically.

Ned smiled genuinely at Robert, "I'm sure Harren the Black would disagree."

Robert boomed out laughing, "Gods, I've missed you Ned." He grabbed a wine bottle and poured two cups, "I would've come through Moat Cailin, but we figured it would be easier if we take it by ship from the Stepstones."

Ned bowed his head, "You're always welcome at Moat Cailin, your grace."

"Dammit Ned, piss on the formalities. I'm still the same Robert that used to sneak out wineskins out of the kitchens at the Eyrie." Robert said.

Ned laughed and said, "You look well Robert."

"Aye," he said patting his stomach, "dropped some weight before the Stepstones. Can't have the demon of the trident out of breath in the middle of battle eh?"

Ned just chuckled and sat down with the rest of them, "How's King Landing?"

"A pit of snakes and backstabbers," Robert grumbled, "Would've stunk of sweat and shit if it wasn't for your nephew fixing it up," he said raising his glass towards Brandon, "To the new hand of the king!"

Ned raised his eyebrow, "You named Brandon your hand?"

Robert nodded, "Aye, Tywin is going to get pissed for sure," he said chuckling, "But I don't need any more blond shits surrounding me in the capital. I would've named you but I know you hate politics more than I hate the Targaryens."

Ned chuckled, "He'll serve you faithfully."

"I know he will. You Starks are the bloody finest people in the Seven Kingdoms, I say."

They smiled at the King and thanked him.

"So, when was your first kill, Jon?" Robert said.

Jon said, "When I was eleven."

Ned and Robert raised their eyebrows, "Bloody hell, that early?"

Jon nodded, "Aye. It was an execution and Brandon said that I'd have to do it myself, like our fathers and forefathers did."

Robert said, "Isn't eleven a bit too young though? I'm all for blood and killing but you were still a boy back then."

"He wouldn't have stayed a boy forever," Ned said.

Benjen butted in, "Ah and Jon did us proud that day, in one strike and unflinchingly."

Jon just smiled in response.

"Good with whores and a sword, eh?" Robert said laughing.

Ned narrowed his eyes dangerously at Benjen, "Whores?"

Benjen shrugged, "Don't blame me. He has been at King's Landing for all this time. As far as I know, he started sleeping around when he got back from Dorne."

"The whores used to tell me that they used to call his cock the Snow cone," Robert boomed out laughing, "They can't do that anymore can they, Lord Stark?"

Jon grinned and asked, "You ask your whores about me while fucking them, your grace?"

They all, with the exception of Ned who chuckled softly, broke out in laughter, while Robert stammered and threw his cup of wine at Jon with a laugh, "Cheeky bastard."

"All this talk about whores," Robert stood up, "Benjen, I trust I'll find more of these surprises at my chambers?"

Benjen grinned, "All month long, your grace."

Robert boomed out in laughter and clapped Benjen on his back, "See you at the feast tonight!"

As soon as Robert left the room Ned rounded on Jon, "Whores, Jon?"

Jon stuttered at his father and Benjen broke in, "Cut it off, Ned. They're boys, that's what they do."

Ned looked at Robb, "You haven't been going to brothels as well, have you?"

The boy looked resolutely at his father and shook his head, "Never, father."

The rest looked at him incredulously, "Really?"

"Never," he affirmed.

"You've been to a whorehouse before, frequently in fact . I own all the brothels in the North and most of the other kingdoms, kid." Benjen said with a teasing grin.

"Not the one with Kayla in it," Robb snapped and shut his mouth audibly, realizing his mistake and looking with wide eyes at his father.

Everyone sniggered and Benjen said, "I'll be sure to have this Kayla work for me then, nephew,"

Before Ned could snap back at him, a servant entered, "Lord Stark, Lady Arya and Lord Brandon are asking for you."

Brandon stood up, "They must be impatient for their wolves, come on then. Bring Sansa as well, Uncle Ned. We'll have to pick one for them… and little Rickon when he grows up."

* * *

"This one!" Bran said excitedly.

Arya snapped, "It looks silly, this one looks much better."

Brandon stood on the side chatting with Ned and Benjen, while Jon helped his half-siblings pick out their new companions.

"You've grown nephew," Ned said.

Brandon nodded wordlessly, "Any thoughts about marriage?"

Sansa perked up, hearing the conversation from where she stood with her siblings.

"Not going to happen," Brandon said briefly.

"What do you mean, not going to happen?" Ned asked, "You're seventeen name-days, most are married at your age."

Brandon waved him off, "I don't want to marry."

"You'll leave Winterfell with no heirs? You have a duty." Ned said angrily.

"Even if I don't marry, I do have heirs," Brandon said motioning at the family, "5 of them, in fact."

"Still, it's your duty to further our line," Ned said tiredly.

Brandon answered, "You've been doing great so far, five children, why don't you further it for us unwedded Starks. Five more shouldn't be a problem."

Ned shook his head and asked, "What of Benjen then? He has to grow up someday. Have you thought of any marriage prospects for him?"

Brandon sighed, "Uncle Ned, my family can marry anyone they like. We're the richest, most powerful kingdom in Westeros. No army can lay foot on the North. We don't really need alliances that much."

"Still, you should consider." Ned said.

Brandon just nodded, "Yea sure."

The rest of the Starks have approached them, each holding a wolf pup in their arms, "Has each of you found one?"

They all nodded happily and Arya said, "This is Nymeria, Robb's Greywind, Sansa's Lady," She said looking disgusted by the stupid name, "and Bran can't figure out a name for his direwolf."

"What about your little brother? Rickon," Benjen asked.

"That one," Arya pointed to the one Jon was holding.

"Very well," Ned said and went to move but was stopped by a big female direwolf sniffing at his hand and rubbing his hands affectionately.

Benjen pointed out, "I think she likes you."

Ned chuckled and went down on his knees, petting the large direwolf, "You'll be my companion, won't you?"

The wolf licked his face happily in response causing them all to chuckle, "Very well, Lya."

"After Lyanna?" Benjen asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Aye," Ned asked, seeing the look on Benjen's face he asked, "What's wrong?"

"It's a wonderful name," Benjen said holding his hands up, "for our sister, not a wolf."

Brandon butted in, "You named your children after your bestfriend, father, foster father, brother and nephew. Don't you think you should be more innovative?"

Ned frowned before getting up and saying, "Come now, Lya." At which the wolf yipped and happily followed him.

Brandon followed him, "What do you think about Winterfell now, uncle Ned?"

Ned shook his head in wonder, "I've been meaning to tell you. It's… incredible. Nothing like it used to be."

"Are the castles down south like Winterfell?" Arya asked.

Brandon shook his head, "Most are much much smaller, little wolf. Winterfell's the largest and grandest city and castle in the Seven Kingdoms."

"Largest city, I'll give you that. But I think Casterly Rock still holds some prestige and grandeur of its own." A cocky voice butted in.

A tall figure with blonde hair wearing a white armor and a white cloak approached us with a smirk on his face.

"Ah, bloody hell!" Jon said.

"What's wrong, Jon?" Brandon asked.

"We're supposed to be sparring in…"

"Twenty minutes ago," Jaime said.

"Yea," Jon said sheepishly scratching the back of his head, "I'll catch up with you tonight, okay?"

Brandon nodded while Ned for some reason looked in shock.

"Ned," Benjen nudged him softly, "NED!"

Ned jumped and mumbled, "The Kingslayer… and my son… friends?"

Benjen said, "They fought alongside at the Stepstones."

"But he's the kingslayer!"

Brandon frowned, "Talk to Jon about it later, Uncle Ned."

"My own flesh and blood… friends… bloody Lannisters," He kept muttering.

Sansa was beside herself with joy and excitement from the moment she set foot inside Winterfell. Even before they arrived, her heart almost fluttered in excitement at the site of Winterfell with its monstrous three circular pearl-white walls. Where most castles she has seen in the past – which wasn't admittedly much- were made of bricks, Winterfell was smooth and shiny and white, as if a man carved it out of a huge pearl he found on top of that hill.

From what she could hear, she wasn't the only one admiring its beauty. The only castle that had such masonry was Dragonstone, and it was the last castle to be used with this ancient lost Valyrian technique. Well not so lost now, she thought smugly. Her smart cousin has re-discovered it all alone, and he refused to tell anyone how the stone is to be fused together in such manner.

The first and outermost wall only held the private farmlands, which was to make sure they're never starved in a siege, her uncle Benjen told her. Her father and mother seemed to watch numbly at all this grandness and beauty of the castle. Columns of knights and lords were pouring through the gates in huge numbers with their shining armor and colorful banners fluttering on the walls. It was everything she ever imagined Winterfell to be.

She knew her family was rich thanks to her cousin but this was a different matter entirely. The gems, gold and beautiful decorations could feed a kingdom for 2 decades if they sold it. Her father, although they had much more money than the other lords, only used the money for the upkeep of Moat Cailin and usually hated spending extravagantly while her cousin went all out with the grandest castle in the Seven Kingdoms.

 _Her cousin_ , she thought mentally sighing blissfully.

She still had nightmares about her kidnapping. The thunder and storms usually brought it back. The only reason these scum managed to pass through the canal gates was because they threatened to slit her throat.

He infiltrated Pyke in the middle of a storm when no else could, brought her back and rained fire and thunder on the Ironborn. She shuddered at the death and destruction of the Iron Islands but she reasoned that her cousin had good reason to do what he did. She has seen the way these savages treated the thralls and the captured green-landers as she has come to learn of them.

But her handsome cousin saved her, she thought blushing.

"….ady Sansa!" A voice cut her thoughts.

She looked to see her cousin and the rest of her family looking at her worried, have they been calling her for a long time?

"Are you okay?" Her cousin said smiling that roguish smile of his.

She blushed heavily and nodded silently while Arya sniggered.

Her father looked at her oddly before addressing her cousin, "I still think you should get married."

She looked hopefully from the sidelines at her cousin only to find him rolling his eyes, "Uncle Ned…"

"What about the Tyrells? I hear that Lady Margaery is a beautiful maid and they would jump at the chance to be related to us." He suggested.

What? No way! Her beautiful cousin wasn't going to be married to a… to a… to a harlot… from Highgarden.

"No," her future-husband said with a tired sigh causing Sansa to calm down internally with a smug smile, "You plan betrothals to your own children and leave Benjen and me to the bachelor life."

Sansa swallowed heavily, but shook herself to calmness. Her mother always told her that most men were dense, her hus-cousin was in love her, and he just didn't know it.

Brandon meanwhile was picking up on her stray thoughts and sweating nervously, cursing this blasted reincarnation of Ginny Weasley.

"What about Robb," Benjen said.

"Do you have any suggestion?" Ned asked with an amused smile.

"Dacey Mormont,"

Ned frowned, "Isn't Jorah Mormont in exile?"

"Aye," Benjen nodded ruefully, "His wife demanded an extravagant lifestyle, Bear Island was generating a good income after the projects Bran started, but it was going slow in the beginning for the opening of the mines and setting up ships and harbors. Jorah sold poachers to slavery to be able to pay for his wife's extravagant life, while his sister poured the money coming to them, into making Bear Island's more defensible."

"But isn't he the Lord of the keep?" Arya asked frowning.

"It doesn't matter if you're a woman or a man on Bear Island," Benjen chuckled, "Maege Mormont is more than capable in forcing her brother to fall in line."

"It was the right thing to do," Ned said, "Bear Island has always been plagued by wildlings attack. They have to make the area defensible first before accommodating to Jorah's wife's expensive tastes."

"Indeed, and they are the one of the main supplier of ice to the Seven Kingdoms now."

Ned chuckled, "Had Jorah endured for a while, he might've been here enjoying the new wealth of House Mormont instead of suffering wherever he is."

Benjen nodded, "Anyway, Dacey Mormont is said to be one of the most beautiful northern women. And the Mormonts' have been dying to prove their loyalty. Rewarding them and binding them to our House seems like a good idea."

They both looked at Brandon who shrugged, "I don't care at all Uncles! I'm the richest and most powerful man in the seven kingdoms, and that is unlikely to change in my lifetime. You handle marriages."

"Fine," Ned said tiredly.

"Now that we're done with our pleasant conversation, I want to hit something. _Adiós_ ," He bowed with a flourish and Arya started running after him to see him sparring.

"What did he just say?" Ned asked staring at his nephews' back.

Benjen shrugged, "He does it all the time. Now are you sure I can't interest you in any of my establishments?" He wiggled his eyebrows teasingly, "Discretion from the lady wife is guaranteed. We even have a wonderful redhead, Ros is her na-"

Ned just rewarded him with a smack over the head.

* * *

The Lords and Ladies of Westeros all poured inside the tourney grounds through the private path guarded by Stark men into their different seats. The king was sat in the middle of the grand pavilion with his wife's family on his left side and the Starks' on his right side. The other lords' of the great houses were seated nearby the king while the others were seated encompassing the tourney grounds. Smallfolk were seated upwards.

"Are you ready, your grace?" Brandon asked.

Robert sunk in his chair before nodding.

Brandon signaled to the herald to start announcing.

"The first round shall begin," He said loudly to the knights gathered, "Announcing Ser Gregor Clegane and…" "A dead man," Robert cut in.

The herald looked at the king and coughed, "Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Wyllis Bracken. Ser Loras Tyrell and Ser Rgyer Rivers. Samwell Tarly and Willas Wode,"

The herald continued to say the rest of the names as the knights moved to the designated rings of their fights. Brandon frowned at the mention of Samwell Tarly, he had forgotten about that kid entirely.

Looking at him, he could still see some of the boy that he saw 2 years ago at the Reach. Now, he was just a bit over 6 inches, with broad shoulders and strong muscled arms, a narrow waist and dark hair. He looked a bit like his brother Dickon, only his eyes showed keen intelligence and the Training has crushed his fear. Where he would've previously wept, seeing a chicken slaughtered, now he could crush a man's head with the heavy warhammer he was hefting over his shoulder, without a thought.

He risked a glance at Randyll Tarly who was staring intently at his son with pride evident in his eyes, and he even smiled? Oh, Samwell crushed the bones of the man he was fighting against. How lovely.

Arya was staring eagerly at the fight as were her brothers, while Sansa looked a bit queasy from the blood that was splattered from the small number of deaths that occurred.

Jon and Ramsay won both their matches easily and advanced to the next round. In the next few hours, almost five hundred men were disqualified from their matches, with bets flying all around and the crowd cheering loudly.

Soon enough, the melee ended with the notable knights advancing to the next round and the guest begun moving towards the biggest pavilion made in the world probably for the feast.

Thousands poured inside, while others of non-importance moved on to the inns and brothels.

"Nothing like a good fight to prove the men's mettle!" Robert cried with a boisterous laugh, already half-drunk.

"Indeed, your grace." Brandon nodded with a smile.

Robert snorted, "We're in a feast, Bran! Stop it with the posh talk." He clapped a hand on his shoulder and raised his glass of wine, "To Lord Brandon Stark, the youngest Hand of King in the history of the Seven Kingdoms and the best goddamn Master of Coin there is!"

Many people smiled and clapped, raising their glasses to Bran in respect, while others had a look of shock plastered on their faces, none more evident than Tywin Lannister, which soon turned into silent fury.

"Tywin is pissed." Brandon remarked hiding his mouth with his cup.

Robert snorted, "As if I would trust a Lannister with anything. Let him stew in his anger," Robert looked much happier at the thought of pissing off anything yellow.

"Ned looks annoyed," Robert remarked.

Brandon nodded, "He keeps lecturing me on marriage and extravagance."

"You should get married though," Robert said.

Brandon looked at him blandly, "You're seriously the last person I ever expected to be lecturing me on marriage."

"I may not have the happiest marriage there is…" and trailed off at Brandon's incredulous look, "Okay, I despise my wife. But you're a young lad, live your life, but keep marriage in your mind. Maybe Myrcella?"

Brandon choked, "Your grace?"

"My girl not good enough for you, is she?" Robert asked with a grin.

Brandon smiled at him, " _Compulso_."

Robert's eyes went glassy for a moment, "Huh… What was I saying?"

"How we're all going to miss Lord Arryn," Brandon said.

"Ahh… Jon," He said, picking up an orange, "Jon once received a barrel of oranges. Only the things had gone rotten, so I flung mine across the table and hit Dacks right in the nose, a squire to Lord Redfort. He tossed one back at me, and before Jon could so much as fart, there were oranges flying across the High Hall in every direction." He laughed uproariously.

Ned laughed from the sides and Robert rounded at him, "You remember that, don't you Ned?"

Ned nodded with a smile still on his face, "I had to clean the stables for a week because of you that time."

Robert laughed once again, "Ahh… Jon."

"I was meaning to ask you, Robert?" Ned said shifting his body to cover their group, "How did Jon die?"

"I was at the Stepstones at that time," He shook his head, "Pycelle said that he had begun healing for a while and suddenly the illness was like a fire in his gut. It burned right through him."

They remained somber for a moment before Robert broke the silence, "That woman of his has gone mad. I tried to get her to foster the boy at Casterly Rock or even at your keep, but she ran away from King's Landing and holed herself in the Eyrie."

"She's a grieving woman, your grace." Ned said.

"Six, and sickly, still suckling at his mother's teats, and Lord of the Eyrie, gods have mercy," the king swore.

"He'll grow," Ned said quietly.

Robert just grunted, "I thought about naming someone else the Warden of the East but Brandon convinced me not to,"

"The Arryns have held that titles for three hundred years," Ned said.

Robert just grunted once again and went off to some serving wench, hugging her and smacking her arse.

"He's changed…" Ned said, watching Robert walk away.

Brandon snorted, "You should've seen him before the Stepstones. He lost almost eight stones before we left for war, his girth used to match his height back then.

At the other side of the pavilion, Cersei moved to sit next to her father, "Reading is considered rude at a feast, father."

"Lions don't concern themselves with the opinion of sheep," He said, his eyes firmly glued to the words.

She frowned and took a peak at the book, "A Queen's brother?" She asked incredulously, "I've never heard of that book before. Who wrote it?"

"Your brother." He said.

"Jaime?" She asked in shock.

He spared her a dirty glance and went back to his reading, "That little monster then? Where has he been holed in these past few moons?"

"Here at the Temple actually," He said, "He wrote several books in fact. Many of them, were quite good reads. The Edge of the World, a Dwarf in Westeros, The Life and Lies of the Mad King."

"He can have fun with his quill and parchment as long as he stays as far as he can away from me," Cersei said sniffing.

Tywin shook his head and went back to reading his book. He was secretly proud that his son managed to do something useful in his life. He still wasn't going to get Casterly Rock, but at least he wasn't whoring and dragging the Lannister name through the mud.

* * *

"The whore is getting married," Robert said loudly.

In hindsight, bringing the entire Small Coucnil alongside the King's procession to continue overseeing matters of the state wasn't the best decision Brandon made.

"Whore?" Brandon asked quizzically.

"Danaerys Targaryen, my lord, is wed to Khal Drogo in a week." Varys the eunuch said softly.

"What threat are they to us?" Renly asked, "Even children know that the Dothraki don't sail. They hate and fear the open sea."

"Well, What if they bloody learn Renly?" Robert shouted, flunging his glass across the table, "Would you take out the Stormlands army and face a hundred thousand Dothraki screamers?"

Renly remained silent, "I thought so."

Brandon said, "I think that is very unlikely. The literal term for ocean in the Dothraki language is poison water," Seeing that Robert wasn't convinced, Bran turned to Stannis, "Lord Stannis, how many men can fit on a Galley? Although I sincerely doubt they could build one."

"20-30 men to man the ship, and almost 200-300 soldiers," Stannis said.

"What about with a horse for each man on every ship, with the horses' food and provisions for the journey from mid-Essos?"

"Barely a hundred men huddled together in each ship." He snorted.

"So unless they manage to build a thousand sailing ships without our notice and pile up a hundred thousand Dothraki screamers on them and manage to smuggle… a thousand… ships right under our nose. They mean nothing to us."

"Really Robert, every ship in Westeros would drown them with their horses the moment they leave the coast of Essos. What? Do you think they'll have a thousand warships?" He said.

"The ships in my fleets take a journey to as far as Qarth every month and to Pentos and Braavos every couple of days. With the Stepstones under our control, there's no way they can possibly manage to land on Westeros." Brandon said.

Robert grumbled, "Fine. What if the whore has a boy? You know that when a man fucks a woman, a little prize pops out of her cunt sometimes," Robert shook his head, "There are still those in the Seven Kingdoms who call me Usurper. Did all of you forget how many houses fought for Targaryen in the war? They bide their time for now, but give them half a chance, they will murder me in my bed, and my sons with me. If the beggar king crosses with a Dothraki horde at his back, the traitors will join him."

"What do you want then, your grace?" Pycelle asked.

"I want them dead," He growled.

Brandon replied tiredly, "I would advise against that, your grace."

They all looked at him surprised, "What?" Robert whispered, "After what Aerys did to your father, to your grandfather. And Rhaeger...How many times do you think he raped your aunt?" His voice had grown so loud and he started rising in his seat in anger.

"Exactly. Her father, her brother, not her," Brandon said, "Killing Khal Drogo's new wife would only provoke and anger him. The Dothraki are a bunch of ignorant people, they'll want to plunder and burn the seven kingdoms just because of killing their new Khaleesi."

"You just said there's no way they can manage to land on Westeros," Robert yelled.

Brandon rubbed his eyes tiredly, "It's an annoyance we can do without, your grace. Moving fleets takes money. Money better used on other things, such as whores and drinks, for example."

Robert quickly lost his anger as soon as it came and chuckled softly, "You're just like Jon. He could always drain the anger out of me."

Brandon smiled, "I'll keep my eyes on the situation, your grace. You have nothing to fear."

"Fine," he said getting off the table.

Varys told the king before he could leave, "Your grace, have you decided on whom to name Master of Coin after Lord Stark's elevation of position?"

Robert just waved his hand at him, "Recommend some to me and I'll pick out of them, Bran."

"Of course, your grace," Brandon said.

Brandon felt a headache coming. He had no fucking idea who to name.

He looked up as a thought came to him.

It would be a bit unorthodox but it was the most reliable option, and Pycelle would like having a colleague with him.

Marwyn

* * *

 _Author Notes;_

 _I need suggestions on the three week tourney. Suggested battles? Joust? Entertainment? SUGGEST!_

 _I hope this chapter was better than the last. Next chapter may or may not be the last chapter of the tourney._

 _ALMOST A THOUSAND!_


	21. Chapter 21

"My lord hand," A dark skinned man with an extravagant green and scarlet cape greeted Brandon as he was about to leave to his chair in the Great Hall.

It was truly a splendid celebration. At first Brandon has contemplated hosting it as a masquerade party, but he didn't think that it would go alright with Robert who was currently groping yet another maid.

The ball was thrown with the same flair and magnificence as everything else in his castle. Magnificent silvery drapes adorned the wall and the roof was made entirely of glass to show the moon and the stars and moon. At day however, the roof was closed using a mechanism similar to the moon door in the Eyrie. Instead of the traditional long tables, small round elaborate tables filled the hall to allow an inkling of privacy, while the head table remained as it is.

Everything was silver- the beams, the walls and the window mullions. Chilling blue ice sculptures of different sigils, castles but mostly wolves on the silver tabletops and in the flambeau bowels. Musicians, actors, acrobats and jesters entertained the guests.

A cough interrupted Brandon's narcissist thoughts and forced his attention to the man in front of him.

"My name is Prince Jalabhar Xho, former prince of the Red Flower of the Vale in the Summer Isles," he said, introducing himself with a smile.

Brandon returned it and shook his hand, "How may I help you?"

The man looked slightly nervous and asked, "Perhaps we can talk in a more private place?"

Brandon frowned, slightly intrigued about what a foreigner and a Summer Islander from his looks, would want from him, "Of course."

They reached a slightly empty corner in the Ballroom which was somewhat quiet.

"You may be aware of the circumstances that led me to Westeros?" The man asked, taking the cup of wine offered.

"I'm afraid I'm not," Brandon took a sip from the champagne he was holding.

The Wolf's Hangover was one of the largest vineyards in Pentos. Brandon had to pay a pretty amount of money to be able to buy it, but it was totally worth it. While conjured wine pretty much tastes like piss, Brandon had to make use of magic to speed up fermentation, aging and riddling the champagne. You'd be amazed at how much nobles paid for it. Given that each bottle was gold plated and encrusted with Onyx gemstones, a bottle of it cost 200 golden dragons.

"I have again and again appealed to King Robert to help me retake my homeland but he was sadly convinced against it by the previous hand, Lord Arryn," He said.

Brandon frowned, reviewing his memories and books organized in his mind, "I'm afraid I don't follow. Aren't wars in the Summer Isles heavily ritualized and usually resemble a slightly large tournament?"

Jalabhar brightened at the prospect of someone willing to listen to him, and hopefully help him, "Indeed, my lord hand."

"You require skilled warriors to retake your homeland then?" Brandon asked.

Jalabhar once again nodded, twiddling his thumbs nervously.

"I'm afraid as the Hand of the King, I can't help you," Brandon said, as Jalabhar's face fell into disappointment, "But as Lord Stark, I may be able to assist you."

Jalabhar's face held a look of confusion so Brandon decided to elaborate, "I will send with you fifty of my best men, to help you take all the Summer Isles, not just your own island. In return however, I expect some concessions from you. This will be a partnership between the North and the Summer Islands, nor the crown."

By that point the man could've asked for his cock and he would gladly cut it for him, "Anything, my lord."

"It's nothing much," Brandon said, "Some favorable trade agreements between both of our provinces as well as some wood."

Jalabhar stiffened slightly, "Wood, my lord?"

Brandon smiled. The most skilled archers hailed from the Summer Isles', mainly due to their bows, which were the best in the world. Goldenheart. No one has been able to arm his army with goldenheart bows for more than five thousand years.

You see, a few thousand years ago, princes of the Summer Isles' found out that dragonlords would offer them handsome payments of gold for slaves. The Summer Islanders are a handsome people, tall, strong, graceful, and quick to learn, so they soon became a favored target for slavers from Valyria, Old Ghis, and the Basilisk Isles. A couple of decades later, a warrior-woman by the name of Xanda Qo, Princess of Sweet Lotus Vale, who had been herself enslaved for a time, set out for a series of wars that would go by the name of The Years of Shame in the future.

She armed her sailors with goldenheart bows that were capable of firing yard-long shafts of hardwood so forcefully that they would penetrate even steel plate armor, eventually conquering all the Isles' and holding them under her rule.

In the end, Slavery was strictly outlawed in the Summer Isles' and the export of Goldenheart wood was forbidden.

"I will provide the Summer Isles' for whatever military protection from any foes until you replenish your stores. In return, you'll provide me with 5,000 goldenheart-bows and a few trees to start planting in my trade colonies. Also, I would be extremely interested in some of the maps you possess. "

Jalabhar seemed torn, "Perhaps I could interest you in something else, my lord? We have bloodwood, ebony, mahogany, purpleheart, blue mahoe, burl, tigerwood, goldenheart, and pink ivory, among others. Maybe even new exotic animals to breed in the north?"

"It's this or the deal's off," Brandon said shrugging, "I forgot to mention that these men will be with you at all times, to help you hold the Isles from any attempt to take it once again from you."

Jalabhar remained stubborn before closing his eyes and sighing, "Very well, my lord."

Brandon clapped his shoulder cheerfully and said, "Cheer up; you'll be the first prince to maintain and rule the entire Isles since Xanda Qo's time."

The man seemed surprised, "You're aware of my people's history?"

Brandon nodded, "Books on the Summer Isles History are rare but they are there for anyone curious enough. I make a point of knowing everything."

The man chuckled and Brandon added, "The men will be ready and you could take them at any time you wish."

"I believe I would like to depart as soon as possible. As alluring and magnificent your tourney is, the prospect of retaking my home is even more enticing."

"Of course," Brandon agreed, leaving the man with his cup of wine

Brandon walked back to his chair and motioned to a servant to bring out the goodies.

The man came back with an ornate black and gold single-stemmed water pipe with a glass water jar at the bottom and some small amount of smoke drizzling out of the bowl, with another one following behind with a bowl of charcoal in it.

Given the fact that I ordered them to walk directly through the Great Hall in the eyes of everyone, we had everyone's attention.

The servant placed the hookah on the table and handed the hose to Brandon which he promptly took and began to inhale, exhaling out large amounts of smoke to the astonishment and gasps of the guests.

Brandon smirked. It wasn't that hard to produce… well almost every smoking product. The tobacco was already arriving in copious amounts and stored in the small factory built next to the distillery. The flavors were pretty easy to make as well. The only thing that had to be accelerated using magic was the steeping of the flavor. So instead of steeping mints in a cup of vodka for a month or two, the process usually took less than a week.

"What the fuck is that?" Robert asked.

"Water-pipe," Brandon said briefly.

Instead of going into long discussions of how it's made, Brandon passed the hose to Robert who cautiously took a breath and looked in wonder as the smoke made its way out of his mouth.

Brandon clapped to the rest of the servants, causing them to jump into action, with almost two or three hundred hookas passed around the tables, for some of the minor lords, multi-hosed ones. Soon enough, everyone was enjoying the feeling of smoke entering their lungs and exhaling it, even the queen managed to look regal as she smoked her hookah.

Brandon planned to gift the water-pipe for every lord in attendance and give them as much as tobacco they used for as long as they stayed here, that and a couple of addictive charms placed on it.

The moment they left Winterfell, they had to buy the tobacco molasses regularly.

At the same moment at brothels and taverns owned by Benjen, loyal agents and owners of the buildings were using hookahs in plain view, intriguing the customers and causing many to order one for them, although the ones available in these brothels were much much less fanciful and elegant.

"It's like eating a lemon from Dorne, without actually eating it!" Sansa said excitedly in her usual intelligent and expressively descriptions.

Soon enough, hookahs were passed around and different flavors introduced from Vanilla, mint to citrus, cinnamon and almonds. Given that he didn't have a chemical lab with chemists ready to derive flavor compounds from amino-acids, fatty acids and other nutrient pathways, he wouldn't be getting a tropical explosion flavor anytime soon without tasting like a shitty concoction.

It would've been funny to see an archaeologist thousands of years in the future marveling on the discovery of a fluorescent-lit lab with 300 different variations of strawberry flavors that was there before even a light bulb was invented. The amount of confusion that would've caused back in the Society of Historical Archaeology would've been hilarious. But alas, too much innovations and rapid developments would lead to a decay in nobility and the equality of all humans, something which I wasn't too keen on causing this fast. Brandon liked to let the human species evolve and go through eras naturally.

Also, a "You get a hookah, you get a hookah and YOU get a hookah. EVERYBODY GETS A HOOKAH" Oprah moment wasn't going to happen either. So Brandon just settled with informing them that these were gifts from the north without any bit of the fun he imagined having.

Not all heroes wear capes…

Back to the point, everyone was smoking their water pipes from the youngest to the eldest, causing the servants to open the windows and doors to allow some of the smoke to escape.

"I'm glad all of you liked the new waterpipes," Brandon said with a smile after a few minutes of smoking. Yeah that silly dragon comment wasn't coming out either. Bobby B was sitting here.

"We are hoping you like this one as well," Brandon said as servants started distributing and lighting blunts around.

In the end Bobby B regaled us for twenty six times in a row about the commoner in the Vale who buggered his goat and married her in the eyes of the Seven with a drunk Septon officiating the service. Several fights broke out but were diffused with even more joints passed out. Some even say that Tywin Lannister outright laughed last night, but none can confirm that fact.

Almost everywhere in the Seven Kingdoms and the western Essosi cities, people were marveling of the different types of dragon-breath as it would come to be called that could sober you up if you were drunk, refreshes you if you were weary, sleep soundly or awaken your brain when you're drowsy. The Essosi were marveling at the paradoxes while hallucinating from the marijuana they smoked. Septons smoked it during their prayers to strengthen their connection with the gods. Westerosi knights smoked it just for the sake of smoking it.

For the glory of the Starks!

* * *

 _ **The Melee, Quarter-Finals**_

"Ohhh, I think that guy's dead," Ramsay muttered.

Jon rolled his eyes, "Ramsay… his head was cut off."

"Yea," Ramsay agreeing, looking at the blood with interest, "Like I said, probably dead."

"Next match!" The herald announced, cutting of Jon, "Lord Jon Stark and Ser Gregor Clegane!"

Jon closed his eyes tiredly and got off the pavilion to suit up for the match.

"Good luck," Ramsay yelled cheerily.

Jon shot him a dirty look, "I don't need luck."

Jaime chuckled from the King's side, while the rest of the pavilion and lords quickly lost their horror-stricken faces with interested ones as a direwolf race commenced during the brief break.

Soon enough Jon was outside, looking comically small next to the mountain that rides, wearing his standard suit of black and grey armor with a longsword at his side.

Everyone was leaning on the edges of the pavilion, remarkably silent.

The silence stretched until a blast of a horn announced the beginning.

While everyone thought Jon was confident and maybe a bit foolish. Jon was slowly freaking out behind his visor. He could still see the rest of the crowd and the pavilion but it was getting all blurry and the voices and cheers sounded like they came from a faraway place.

The only thing Jon could clearly see was the Mountain that Rides standing in front of him in all his thirty stones of muscle. He was almost eight feet tall and arms the size of a small tree's trunk, with huge broad shoulders. The monstrous six foot two-handed greatsword that he was casually twirling with one hand was also a cause of concern, given that it could cut him in half with only one strike.

Jon vaguely recalled the herald announcing the beginning when he noticed that Gregor was starting to approach him and Jon still hasn't moved from his stance. He couldn't for the life of him figure how to manage to land a hit effectively on that monster.

When he was wearing his armor, he managed to sneak a peek at Gregor's armor. It had to be the heaviest, thickest plate armor a man ever wore, requiring three squires just to carry it and fit it. He was wearing a plate helm with only a narrow slit for vision, that Jon couldn't even try and discern his intentions from his eyes from.

Clegane was within sword reach right now and brought his sword from up to down, trying to hack Jon in two pieces.

Jon rolled out of the way easily; only pausing to recover from the feeling of the ground being shaken heavily beneath him from that single blow.

That was the man that killed Arianne's aunt Elia and her cousin. It was said that he dashed the boy's head against the wall and proceeded to rape and murder Elia with her son's blood and brains still on his hands.

The Martell's looked downright murderous right now; even Doran the usually composed one had a calm façade but a flaming rage burning in his eyes. The rest of the Martell's had varying expressions of anger and hate, only difference was with Arianna who had a deep amount of worry itched on her face.

Ahh… Sweet Arianne. They were roughly the same age, but were as opposite as day and night. She was wild, adventurous and wild-tempered while he was calm, a bit arrogant and used to be shy before she broke it out of him. He hasn't told anyone but he exchanged letters with her weekly after leaving Dorne. She often had some very vivid descriptive sexual acts written on the parchment, causing him to frequent the brothels his uncle owned.

Jon barely managed to duck under the furious swipe from the mountain that threatened to take his head off. He shook his head quickly and refocused on the fight.

The situation went on for a few minutes the same, Jon landing fast blows on the Mountain that didn't even seem to budge his armor while quickly evading his slow but destructive hits, well until one of those hits managed to pierce through Gregor's armor cutting through his legs and causing him to howl with pain.

It was a superficial cut, but painful nevertheless.

Jon tried to take on the advantage of the kneeling mountain but was rewarded with the mountain roaring and back handing him, causing him to fly… honestly fly… almost 20 feet to the back.

Jon winced as he tried to get up. He couldn't even move but he could hear the shouts of panic. He could feel his armor half-caved inside, causing it to hold tightly to his chest and struggling with breath.

With a struggling yell he managed to strip himself of the chestplate and roll out of it.

His torso was covered with blood and the chainmail almost split to the sides. The force of the blow had probably broken a rib or two, but none got close to the huge gash he got from the sharp edge of the caved armor.

Jon could see that the mountain was recovering as well, limping softly in his directions. But he was still too far away.

He looked to his side, his sword laid broken into two.

 _Fucking cheap swords, he thought with a grimace._

If he had Ice with him, he would've probably manage to finish this as soon as it started, but it was not allowed as it gave an unfair advantage.

So with a grimace he straightened up, removed his helm and whatever remained of the chainmail. He quickly stripped out of his armor, only leaving his bracers on his arms and wearing his breeches.

He took several deep breathes, Uncle Ne- Father, was going to berate him for what he was going to do.

But there was no win or lose when you fight with the mountain. It was win or die. The man was so angry right now, he doubted even Tywin Lannister could get him to stop.

So Jon took off and started sprinting towards the mountain taking the man with surprise.

20 feet… 15 feet… 10 feet... 5 feet… and JUMP!

And jump he did, with a loud yell he managed to lift himself from the ground and jump over the Mountain, using the mountain's shoulders to help him flip in the air further.

He landed on the ground with a sprint, looking out of breath and bowed to the king with his bloodied torso and tiredly.

The crowd muttered in confusion. Sure the jump was an impressive acrobatic move but that man had the mountain on his tail with no protection whatsoever.

All muttering stopped abruptly as a choked gurgle sounded from under the mountains helm and he fell on his back with a huge thump.

There between the tiny slit of his visor, a wolf head hilt of a dagger settled with an increasing amount of blood being splashed on it from the ever increasing amount of blood gurgled.

Not a single soul made a sound in the huge crowd until Brandon Stark started slowly clapping, breaking the silence and causing the nobles and the commoners alike to break out in a cacophony of noises and cheering.

Jon stumbled slightly to the Stark side of the pavilion and muttered, "I'm going to pass out from blood loss, aren't I?"

"In a few seconds," Brandon affirmed.

"Oh well," he smiled tiredly, sparing a wink towards the Martell Princess in Dorne's pavilion and suddenly going limp, only stopped from falling on his face by Brandon's steady hands.

* * *

"Here he is!" cried Robert with a loud laugh, "How're the ribs?"

Jon walked slowly towards the king nodding politely at those who congratulated him, and cringing whenever someone clapped him on the shoulders.

He finally reached his seat with help from Benjen and sank in it, "I'll have to take it easy for two months."

"You won't be able to make it to the finals?" Jaime asked.

Jon shook his head, "The Maesters made it clear that the damage wasn't just the ribs; fractured bones and a slight concussion and a blood loss to top them."

Jaime smiled sympathetically at him and Barristan added, "You've earned more glory than the champion of this melee could've gotten, boy."

Jon nodded at Ser Barristan with a smile and turned towards the next group of performers that entered the great hall.

"Please return to your seats," The performer said, "We're going to close the lights."

The lords and ladies returned to their tables and chairs grumbling, but nevertheless complying.

After a few moments of silence and darkness light was focused on a certain wall and a voice sounded from every corner in the room, "Once, there were three brothers, who were walking along a long twining road at twilight."

Shadows formed in the shape of the brothers and showed the story on the wall, causing the crowd to gasp.

"Not unlike any brothers," the voice said, "these three brothers were gifted sorcerers."

The shadows showed three figures holding wands and lifting objects and transfiguring them.

"Now, they came to a river, which was far too dangerous to cross over. However, since the three were gifted in magic, they gave a simple wave of their wands, and made a bridge grow from the side of the bank."

The entire crowd was watching attentively at the shadows on the wall that seemed to be real and playing out, listening to the voice that came out of every direction.

"Yet, before they could cross, a hooded figure crossed their path. Death. And he felt cheated. But Death was cunning. He congratulated the three brothers upon their magic, and promised to gift the trio for having been clever enough to evade him. The eldest brother, Antioch Peverell, asked for a wand to beat all other wands. So, Death created a wand from a nearby tree for him."

"The second brother, Cadmus Peverell, wished to show he'd bested Death even more so than his elder brother, so asked for the power to recall loved ones who'd passed on." Once again, the crowd gasped at the sight of the hooded figure crafting the magical artifacts on the wall.

"Made from the stone plucked out of the depths of the river, Death handed the stone over before turning to the third brother. The youngest, Ignotus Peverell, asked for the power to leave their meeting, and to never be followed by Death again. To which he was given a cloak, of Death's own."

Everyone was so absorbed in the tale and the background music played suddenly shifted, "The elder brother went on to kill a man he had fought with, bragging of the wand he'd been gifted. He was slain that night, killed for the Hallow. And so Death claimed the life of the first brother."

The shadow of Antioch being slain and death retrieving his soul played on the wall.

"The second brother returned home, summoning up the girl he'd once wished to marry before her sudden death, and she appeared. Yet she grew sad, for she did not belong in the living world. So if she were to not stay within his realm, he decided to journey to hers. And so Death took the second brother."

There was only one figure on the wall now, and two Black brothers on the bed, holding their breath. "As for the last brother. Well, Death searched and searched, but he was hidden under the being's gift. It wasn't until he willingly shed the cloak, passing it on to his son, that the third brother allowed Death to take him, greeting him as an old friend."

The three brothers stood in the end with death looming and holding strings above them.

"A thousand years later, the strongest sorcerer of all time; the Sorcerer Supreme, the Master of Death, Conqueror of Death, Vanquisher of Death and Death's companion, united the three hallows, rendering him immortal and invincible, ruling the world to the end of time."

The last shadow showed a young man standing proudly on a huge tower while millions of men and women stood underneath him, Death by his side.

"For in the end," The voice said, "Only he understood the fact that death is inevitable, and that there are other things worse than dying. And thus, he was rewarded by remaining youthful forever, never passing on, and serving death's justice on his enemies."

The voices faded and the shadows disappeared with a puff causing the candles to miraculously light on their selves.

The entire crowd cheered and clapped in awe and excitement while the Master of Death stood with narrowed eyes glaring at the four faceless men that were disguised as mummers.

"A wonderful performance," Prince Doran said, capturing Brandon's attention.

"Indeed," Brandon said.

Doran looked at his daughter before looking once again at Brandon and saying, "I was hoping to strengthen the ties between our kingdoms."

Brandon stiffened and closed his eyes, several other people were listening in, so he couldn't cast a compulsion safely, "I'm afraid that getting married isn't a priority of mine at the moment."

"Oh, not you," Doran said, "We've all heard of your legendary hate against the shackles of matrimony."

Brandon chuckled, "Who then?"

"Jon… and my Heiress, Arianne," Doran said.

The sound of a goblet breaking and wine splashing was heard and oddly enough it wasn't Jon, rather Catelyn Stark. Brandon spared her a dirty glance and looked back at Doran.

"Have you approached Jon and Arianne with the subject?"

Doran looked amused and just motioned to his daughter.

She was deeply snogging Jon in the middle of the hall much to the embarrassment of the other.

"This isn't for killing the Mountain, is it?" Brandon asked, looking back at Doran.

Doran's eyes held a hint of smugness, "It was deeply appreciated, and house Martell would be in your house's debt forever for serving justice to that… monster. But no, I seek to find an acceptable marriage for the future Princess of Dorne and strengthen the ties with the North as well."

Before Brandon could reply, Jon stumbled into his way his arms around Arianne's waist and said happily, "Cousin! Bad news," he grinned, "I can't rule Azkaban; I'm going to be the future prince consort of Dorne."

Brandon just looked at him blandly for a moment before nodding and sending him off.

"I'll meet you later to discuss the arrangements and wedding, Prince Doran."

"Awesome," The Red Viper yelled, interrupting his brother and causing Brandon to jump from the loud noise, "To the new prince-consort of Dorne! The breaker of Mountains!"

The men cheered and ladies clapped while Catelyn Stark remained noticeably silent and glaring at Jon with hate in her eyes.

Brandon was irritated at the second time, a lordship of the grandest port and coastal city in Westeros was rebuffed from a relative of his.

The sight of his cousin looking happier than he ever saw him and grinning smugly at Catelyn made it kind of less irritating, to be honest.

 _I'm getting too soft_ , he thought disappointedly with a smile still on his face.


	22. Chapter 22

"Lady Olenna," Brandon said without looking at her.

"Lord Stark," She replied, "Do you mind if I take a seat?"

Brandon gestured to the empty seats beside him; his companions have long left to their own devices.

"You remember Margaery, I trust?" She asked.

Brandon gave her his attention fully at that moment as it seemed they were dragging on the conversation.

"Lord Stark," She curtsied, purposely showing a hint of cleavage before batting her eyelashes and stunningly smiling in his direction. The Flower of the Reach was certainly well aware of her beauty and made sure others knew it as well. Surprisingly enough, for her at least, their host didn't bother with her beyond a polite bow of his head before returning his attention to her grandmother.

"You have grown from the last time I saw you at the Reach." Olenna said.

"That does tend to happen," He said absently while gazing disappointedly at Ramsay who was sitting with 3 wenches on his lap.

The woman who was so used to everyone vying for her attention was stuck in an awkward silence before adding, "Lord Bolton seems to be enjoying his youth enough," She clicked her tongue disapprovingly, "While your cousin seems to be enamored with his betrothed."

Brandon's face showed the first reaction from the beginning, a soft smile before addressing her, "Indeed."

"You're not planning to get married yourself?" She asked, "You're the most eligible bachelor in the Seven Kingdoms… beside the Crown Prince of course."

Brandon spared her a glance conveying what he thought exactly of her presumption that the Crown Prince was in any shape or way a more eligible bachelor than he is. He was Lord Voldemort dammit. He was second to none, "People marry for wealth, power or armies. I have them all more than any one."

"No one ever complained of being more wealthy or powerful," Margaery said with a raised eyebrow.

Brandon gazed into her eyes and answered, "Greed is a bottomless pit, Lady Margaery."

She straightened and smirked, "Your ever growing coffers seem to disagree, Lord Stark."

That was a bit rude actually.

He shrugged, "I make no secret that I am the wealthiest man in the Seven Kingdoms. Still, you haven't given me a reason to marry."

She cocked her head, "You have no wish for heirs and children?"

"I do have heirs…."

Before he could continue Lord Hoster Tully stood slightly drunk with a flushed face and said loudly, "My Lords and Ladies of Westeros! I demand that Lord Brandon Stark be brought in front of the King to be tried for his crimes."

The entire Great Hall fell silent at that moment, the attendees' reactions varying between pity and apprehension and curiosity.

"And what crimes would be that exactly, Tully?" Greatjon Umber growled spitting Hoster's last name.

"The murder of my good-son, Lord Jon Arryn," He said simply.

Once again the entire hall fell silent before Rickard Karstark whispered cruelly yet loud enough for people to hear, "My lord, give the word, every sword in the North would pillage and burn the Riverlands to the ground."

Hoster's face along with the contigent of Riverlords along him turned pasty white before convulsing into anger and spittling, "How DARE YOU!"

Before he could continue Lord Umber roared loudly and lifted his table and threw it to the side, "HOW DARE YOU, YOU FUCKING INSIGNIFICANT WORM."

Hoster's face turned purple and he shouted back, trembling slightly, "I am the Lord Paramount of the Riverla…"

"Bah!" Umber spitted, "The North's farmlands are thrice as big as the fucking Riverlands you're so proud of. You're not even a fucking kingdom."

"I am a lord of a Great House, I will not be insulted by…"

It seemed that today was the national Let's Interrupt Hoster day, as lord Glover banged his fist to the table and said, "Even the newest house in the North has a prouder and longer history than house Tully," he spat, "Long before you were thralls to the Ironborn, long before Riverrun was even built. You weren't awarded the Paramouncy of the Riverlands because of your proud history, Tully. Aegon Targaryen gave you that fucking strip of farmlands because you were the first to rebel, nothing more, nothing less."

He got up from his seat and roared, "Don't forget yourself, Hoster. You're in Winterfell, the Heart of the North. You dare accuse our Lord in our own lands and home?"

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS MADNESS?" Robert boomed out from the door.

It seemed that the commotion has attracted Robert from his chambers and interrupted his happy time with one of the whores.

"This is no madness, your grace. I accuse Lord Brandon Stark of murdering my good-son, Lord of the Eyrie, Jon Arryn," Tully said, regaining a composed face but his eyes held smugness and anger in it.

Robert's face convulsed into different hues of red with Hoster's face growing increasingly smug, before Robert surprisingly calmed himself and asked growlingly, "I assume you have proof of your accusations, Hoster?"

"My daughter, Lysa, has escaped to the Eyrie in fear for her life and that of her child, your grace. Lord Stark is the only one with the motive to kill Lord Arryn. Now, I believe that since he is unsuitable to hold the North that he takes the black and Winterfell passes to my good-son, Ned, your friend as he is…"

"The father of your grandchildren, which the North would pass unto them after his passing," Tywin Lannister butted in, surprising everyone, "How very convenient, won't you say?"

Hoster yelled indignantly, "The rules of succession are older than the Wall!"

"It seems that you have decided my guilt and already deciding who will rule the North all in the matter of a few seconds, Hoster," Bran said for the first time since Hoster's declaration, "Would you prefer to die drowning inside Riverrun or should I just throw a jar of wildfire inside and wait for you to burn in agony alongside that triangle excuse of a castle?"

Before Hoster could shout any more, Robert whirled to Bran and asked, "Bran," he looked Brandon straight in the eye and said softly, "Swear to me that you had nothing to do with Jon's death."

Brandon raised an eyebrow and answered, "I swear, your grace."

"Good," Robert nodded, visibly relaxing. If this was the sort of way trials and accusations were usually handled by the king, then it's likely that Brandon could get away with anything other than actively supporting a Targaryen.

"You say Jon was murdered, yes?" Robert grunted to Hoster.

Hoster shook visibly before regaining his senses and nodded, "My daughter assures me that it was poison, your grace. The only one profiting from such action is Lord Stark himself, as it cleared the way for him becoming the Hand."

"Yo-Your Grace," Pycelle said, "Lord Arryn was the Hand of the King, a position where people have many enemies and few precious friends. We can't…"

"Shut the fuck up!" Robert yelled at Pycelle who shrunk at the King's tone, "How do we knew if it's poison or not?"

"Without Lord Arryn's body, there's no fathomable way to ascertain that poison was the cause of death," He said, "But from the accounts of Lord Arryn's personal Maester, he passed gradually, peacefully, as any man his age would."

Brandon did in fact know the poison that was used. Remnants of the Alchemist Guild were doing some underground jobs in King's Landing and have been producing the queerest inventions from their cellars. It seems the Lady Arryn has requested a rather peculiar custom order under false alias of course, with a generous donation to the rebuilding of the Alchemist's guild.

At first they would mix common salt with Vitriol, and then they burned dry wood, obtaining white powder from it. They would then start dissolving the ash in the water, crudely filtering it. Lastly, they would neutralize the second concoction with the first, producing _the poison._

 _Yes, Alchemists weren't particularly creative in their names._

In the end, they would have crude Potassium Chloride, odorless with a slight whitey appearance but nevertheless. Undetectable.

Well it would have been undetectable if Lysa Arryn hadn't sneaked in 250 grams in his system. How she did, Brandon couldn't know.

She might as well have force-fed him 195 bananas to overdose him on Potassium.

Back to the subject, since Potassium is already in the human system, it was nigh impossible to detect without a proper Forensic Lab. The cause of death was attributed to Cardiac Arrest, or as the Grandmaester put it, passed peacefully in his sleep.

Although he doubted it was by any means peaceful, more like agonizing.

"If I may, your grace," Varys said, "The only real suspect is Lady Lysa herself."

Hoster's eye almost fell from their sockets and he yelled, "You dare accuse my daughter!"

Robert shushed Hoster and Varys added, "My birds have been reporting that their relationship has been strained these past few months."

"Ever since, our dear Master of Coin's rather unpleasant passing…" Brandon finished.

"What are you saying?" Robert asked confused.

Brandon sighed, "Perhaps it would be more prudent to first ask Lord Tully before we make any outrageous claims."

"Very well," Robert nodded, "You handle the questioning."

"It would be my pleasure, your grace." He smiled a bit while Hoster looked like he was going to kill someone at any moment.

"It was truly nice to chat with you , but I have a lord to knock down a few pegs."

"Oh this is the most fun I had in many years, we'll talk to you after the trial," Olenna said amused.

"Of course,"

It only took a few moments for everyone to take their places, with a place cleared in front of the head table where the small council and the other Lords Paramount were seated to accommodate for Hoster's rather dainty chair.

"Lord Tully," Brandon smiled serenely, "I trust you are feeling better after you got that out of your system?

The man glared at Brandon without answering his questions

"Since it is a matter that concerns the internal peace of the Seven Kingdoms, then it concerns the entire court and lords. I'm afraid we'll have this trial in front of everyone." Brandon said.

Actually, it wasn't. But since he decided to yell to everyone that he killed Jon Arryn in a poor attempt to usurp him in favor of his grandson, Brandon was inclined to return the favor.

"Very well," he answered tiredly.

Brandon smiled at him, "Now, when have you last seen your daughter?"

"Just after my grandson's successful birth," He answered succinctly.

"Ahh, little Robin," Brandon said, "And how would you say the boy is?"

Tully straightened and looked him straight in the eye, "He's a strong heir from the houses Tully and Arryn."

Brandon raised his eyebrow, "Some might disagree with you, Lord Tully. According to my sources and my own observation, he is extremely temperamental, prone to hysterical fits and violent tempers."

"He is a young boy, he'll grow," Tully asked frostily, "is there any reason for these questions?"

Brandon just smiled at him again, "Of course, Lord Tully. How long have you been breastfed?"

"What?" The man asked confusedly, as the entirety of the great Hall was filled with giggles and tittering.

"Perhaps I should rephrase the question. When were you weaned, Lord Tully?"

Hoster glared at him and looked to Robert, "Your Grace…"

"Answer the fucking Hand of the King, Hoster."

Hoster took a deep breath, "After 2 years, my Lord Hand."

"Would you say that seven years is a bit too old to be still suckling from his mother's teats, Lord Tully?" Brandon asked never once losing his serene and gentle smile.

"Yes..." He said grinding his teeth.

"You are aware that Little Robin or Sweetrobin as Lysa so fondly calls him is still not weaned from his mother's breast."

Hoster began to grow angry at the tittering and laughter in the crowd behind him and said, "My daughter is newly widowed, her son is the only thing she have left, after her miscarriages, it is normal that…"

"Ah yes, let's speak of those miscarriages if you will. How many miscarriages did your daughter suffer from?"

"Five…" He bit out angrily.

"Five miscarriages," He shook his head sadly, "How dreadful."

"My lords and ladies," Brandon added, addressing the other people in the room, "I'm not accusing that house Tully produced infertile daughters or anything. Lady Catelyn has been blessed with five beautiful children herself."

Hoster looked a bit confused at the statement and awaited the next question.

"What would you say is the reason behind your daughter's inability to provide heirs to Lord Arryn?"

"How the fuck should I know?" He asked angrily, "Ask a Maester if you want."

"How lovely," Brandon said, "What can you tell us about Petyr Baelish?"

Hoster was visibly flummoxed from the way he gaped like a fish for a few moments before croaking gibberish.

"Lord Petyr Baelish, the lord of the extinct house Baelish, of the fingers, commonly called Littlefinger. Rings any bells?" Brandon elaborated mockingly.

Hoster bristled and said, "What about him?"

"He was fostered at Riverrun, correct?" He asked.

"Yes," he bit out.

"How would you go on to describe his fostering?"

"As any fostering is…" He said briefly.

"GET THE FUCK ON WITH IT!" Robert yelled, smashing his cup of vodka on the ground.

"Of course, your grace," Brandon replied not turning back, but keeping his eyes firmly on Hoster, "You're aware of Lord Baelish and your daughters'… relationship during his fostering?"

Hoster Tully's eyes grew incredibly cold at that moment and his frail and old body shook so heavily from anger but before he could answer, Brandon added, "They have copulated in their youth, correct?"

"Copu-what now?" Robert asked.

"Allow me to rephrase my question," Brandon said exasperatedly, "Lord Baelish has fucked your daughter Lysa, yes?"

Gasps filled the halls and Catelyn's face grew pale and then red with anger and screeched, "These are lies!"

Brandon spared her a disgusted glance before addressing Hoster once again with a raised eyebrow, "Lying to the king is considered treason."

"Yes, they did," He said with his eyes closed, as Catelyn gasped loudly in the background, "What of it?"

"You sneaked moon tea to her despite the knowledge that it could cause problems in the future in birthing?" Brandon asked.

Hoster's eyes were reduced to slits but Brandon went on, "Disregarding your obvious carelessness toward your daughter and forcibly aborting her child at 2 months because and I quote 'That little ungrateful shit is too lowborn.' Have you informed Lord Arryn of this accident?"

Hoster swallowed the lump in his throat before minutely shaking his head.

"So you married off your daughter, forcibly might I add, to the Lord of the Eyrie, despite the fact that she was shamed and well… spoiled goods as some might say, knowing that she could probably bear no more children to the Lord of the Eyrie, and you haven't bothered informing him?"

Hoster's anger was rolling off him in waves right now and he looked down and shook his head.

"YOU FUCKING CUNT!" Robert yelled, getting off his chair.

Before Robert could go and smash Hoster's head against the wall, a messenger bearing the eagle of the Vale and entered the Great Hall announcing loudly, "To the Lords and Ladies of Westeros, the Lady Regent of the Vale, Lady Lysa Arryn declares war against the North for the murder of her husband, Lord Jon Arryn and conspiring to murder her son, the future lord of the Eyrie and herself."

As was common that day, the hall went deadly silent before it was cut by Ramsay giggling slightly joined by Jon and turning into full blown laughter from almost all the Lords of the North.

Ramsay stood grinning widely and told the poor messenger who almost pissed himself from the sight of Ramsay's maniacal grin, "Go tell that insane bitch and her stupid stunted boy of hers that the men of the North are coming from them, and they will drag them from the Eyrie all the way down the mountain and leave them for the Mountain Clans."

The lords of the North roared their agreement even if some were slightly shaken by Ramsay's attitude.

"Your grace, my honor can't allow me to let my daughter fight this war. I beg of you to reconsider and give us ti…"

"Oh, we don't mind you joining her at all Hoster," Brandon said getting up from his seat, "Should we wait for a raven that you've gathered all the levies of the Riverlands and waiting for us?"

The lords laughed loudly, "So be it, you arrogant petulant child. You will be buried in the Riverlands!"

Before he stormed out of the doors, Brandon said loudly, "Cousin Robb. You're a fine grown lad now. You'll be in command of the army going to the Riverlands, while Jon and I deal with the Vale. I'm sure you'll perform admirably."

"Nephew," Ned Stark butted in, "He's too young, I can go in his stead."

"I need a veteran commander to guard the entrance of the North, uncle Ned," He said waving his hand, "Besides, let Robb have his share of glory."

Robb grinned widely before his face fell when he remembered that he would be fighting against his grandfather and looked awkwardly between his mother and cousin, "I would be honored to lead the men, my Lord."

Catelyn protested, "Robb!"

Brandon ignored her, "Lovely. You will of course be accompanied by some more seasoned generals to advise you."

Robb also ignored his mother and nodded at his cousin, "I will not disappoint you."

"I know you won't," Brandon smiled at him and cast a mild loyalty compulsion to ensure that he wouldn't get any foolish notions. Family or not, you didn't become the ruler of the world without a healthy degree of paranoia and caution.

Brandon brushed against the petrified Hoster Tully, but not before giving him a last remark with a cruel smirk, "Really Hoster? Have you forgotten what I did to the Greyjoys?"

* * *

Sooooo…. A short chapter after almost 3 weeks of nothing to write. I'm terribly sorry, but I'm currently in Germany dealing with my enrollment papers and Visa for the university before October and terribly busy!

Hopefully, I can find a schedule that I could stick you and write longer chapters in the future.

Cheers!


	23. Chapter 23

_**Honor, Family and Bastards**_

* * *

 _ **Winterfell**_

"You're to return to Riverrun and face Robb Stark's army at the Neck," intoned Brandon to the glassy eyed Hoster Tully, "Continue follow the instructions given to you… and just act as if you're in a real war, I want to test the little red haired Stark."

The imperio'ed Hoster Tully just repeated the instructions given to him once more by the Lord of the North.

What? You thought an immortal wizard who could pick up everyone and anyone's stray thoughts would be surprised by Hoster's declaration? It was all planned from the beginning. Hoster was placed under the imperio the moment he stepped inside the North.

Oh a war against the Vale was a definite thing ever since the death of Petyr Baelish, the trick was getting Hoster out of the picture while at the same time cornering the Lannisters. As long as Hoster lived, the Riverlands would remain weak. The man was content to leave the Riverlands as he entered it. Even then, he was an old man and it could be afforded to wait until he's dead so that Brandon the second could take his place and Brandon could begin playing with his control south of the neck.

No, the true reason for this war was to actually _strengthen_ the power of House Tully in the region.

Twelve noble houses, that's how much lords were planning to take Riverrun for themselves after Hoster kicked the bucket.

And they would be right of course. Who wanted to be ruled by a kid who never even set foot inside the riverlands?

Since the war was inevitable anyway. The true power show of House Stark as well as the crippling of these houses was just moved a little bit forward. It was no use to move back the armies after they just finished a war down south, isn't it?

So with instructions given to Hoster to provoke a war, House Darry, Cox, Goodbrook, Grell, Paege and others would be ordered to place most of their levies and lords to meet and later become eradicated by the armies of the North at the neck. Other loyal lords and their levies would be placed to guard the Westerlands borders from any attack from the west.

After the war and the placement of young Brandon, those traitourous fucks – whatever was left of them- would have no way to possibly threat the peace in the Riverlands, and if they did have, it would be a long time later when my young cousin's power and loyalty was cemented amongst the Riverlords.

Nothing happens without a reason.

Nothing.

That still didn't mean that Brandon would just go easy on the future lord of Moat Cailin. If things went terribly wrong, a little misplaced fiendyre would help boost the morale as well as help the eldest son of Catelyn Stark.

After centuries of getting everything with a wave of his hand, a real challenge was amusing every now and then.

Well, Legilemency doesn't count. If you had the power to read the mind, would you refrain from doing so because it's immoral?

Back to the original topic, Brandon was now reading a letter from the last Houses of the First Men among others have declared against the actions of Lysa Arryn and raised their banners in support of the North.

This was actually pretty surprising.

Lord Gerold Grafton of Gulltown, Horton Redfort, Benedar Belmore and most surprisingly Lord Yohn Royce among others.

It appeared that Lysa has ordered the Steward, a Royce, thrown out of the moon gate after his years of loyal service, enraging one of her most powerful bannermen. The reason was because the man apparently declared among court the absurdity of a Stark killing Lord Arryn.

Lord Grafton already had a grudge against the Arryns from the time of the Rebellion.

7 Lords, the strongest harbor of the Vale and the Mountain Clansmen were all in the North's grasp.

Not all of the Vale were against Lysa's crazy actions, the fucking Sistermen began to harass and attack the newly built Wolf den's and raiding ships and lands in the Bite.

Brandon was interrupted from his thoughts by a knock on the door, "My lord," A soldier dressed in the typical death eater black armor said, "The men are ready to move."

"Very well," He said with a sigh, "Bring Robb and Jon to me."

The soldier nodded and left almost inaudibly.

Only the Knights of Walpurgis, the Guardians of the North and the Death Eaters would be deployed towards the Vale with the rest travelling with my cousin's party. The Vale couldn't be drowned by numbers. Men who had trained their whole lives in Guerilla Warfare and infiltration however were the strongest at the Vale.

So Brandon figured that only these 2 bases as well as reinforcements from the lords of the Vale and Mountain Clansmen would be enough to take down the Vale. The Death Eaters were mostly reserved for the Eyrie.

With the South being held by the lords loyal to us and the west harassed constantly by much better and organized clansmen, only the North remained to take down to literally corner the Vale.

The Three sisters were going down.

"You called for us, cousin?" Jon asked

Brandon nodded and motioned to them to sit around.

"Have you given any thoughts of the impending war?"

Robb stammered a bit, "Erm… You just gave me command of half the North's army a few hours ago…"

Brandon closed his eyes with a sigh, "Robb… I may not know you as well as I know Jon, but you're family and therefore I trust you," he looked at him as he saw he was getting exceedingly pleased with himself, "That doesn't apply for half the lords of the North, however."

"Wh-What? Why? I have never even met with most of them," He asked perplexed.

Brandon raised an eyebrow at him as his eyes settled in understanding, "I'm half a Tully."

"Yes, you are," Brandon said with a sigh, "Your mother's actions last night have done you no favors either."

"But… I'm completely loyal to you, I swear. I would never think of betraying the North." He said, completely flushed and nervous.

"Relax, I know that," He said placating him and twirling the whiskey in his cup, "I am going to send Ramsay and Roose Bolton with you."

If Robb looked nervous before, his facial reaction now was almost downright fear, "The-The Demon of the Dreadfort?"

"The very same," he nodded.

He gulped, before nodding and asking shakily, "May I ask why?"

"House Bolton in the past was not the most loyal bannermen," he spared a glare at Jon who snorted, "They also have a… reputation. With them being your most loyal supporters and also instilling fear in any cunt, you will guarantee the support of the other lords… until you prove your worth to them that is."

He nodded, and Brandon continued, "Listen to them, as well as the other lords accompanying you. You're young and they have been to more battles and wars than you have had spars. Lead the men from the front. Don't. Ever. Hesitate," he turned around and looked directly into Robb's blue eyes, "and be absolutely ruthless in your first battle."

"Wh-What about honor and you know… honor!" He exclaimed indignantly.

"Yea forget about that," Brandon said with a mocking smile, "War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it. The crueler it is, the sooner it will be over."

He was a little shocked but remained silent and went to leave the room when Brandon called, "If you feel a bit queasy about doing something, order Ramsay to do it."

He nodded once again stiffly without turning back.

Jon watched his back until he closed the door before turning back towards Brandon, "This could prove problematic."

"He's disillusioned," Brandon said waving his hand, "He'll kill a dozen men and won't feel a thing after it."

Jon looked a little uncertain but shrugged anyway, "What is it you need of me?"

"This," Brandon said handing him the letters of declaration.

Jon took them and his eyes moved over the letters quickly with no visible reaction on his face until he was finished, "That's good, isn't it?"

"Indeed it is, but I'll have to lead our armies from the south myself to ensure their continued loyalty."

Jon still looked confused, "The Three Sisters," Brandon clarified.

"I can take it easily," He said confused.

"I know you can," Brandon nodded, "But I don't want you to just take it."

Jon sat silent in his seat before saying, "You want another Rape of the Three Sisters?"

"Not as excessive…" Brandon started.

"So, no killing children and cooking them in pots, disemboweling men and wounding their entrails around spits?" Jon asked amusedly.

"Yes let's refrain from these," I said with equal amusement, "I need however every soldier and noble house in the Three Sisters slaughtered."

"Another Headman's Mount it is then?" Jon asked.

Brandon nodded, looking in the face of his cousin for any reaction, "If you feel uncomfortable I could switch you with Ramsay…"

"No… No it's unnecessary. But for what reason?"

Brandon's eyes got hardened, "To act as an… incentive for the other lords."

"Very well…" Jon stood up and sighed, "I will take the Knights of Walpurgis and secure the Three Sisters."

"Good."

"I expect an extraordinary wedding after this, cousin!" He exclaimed on his way to the door.

Brandon shook his head and chuckled softly at his cousin's retreating figure.

* * *

"I could've sworn they called the banners only yesterday…" Kevan muttered to his brother.

"This is worrying, Kevan," Tywin said to his only trusted advisor, his brother, as his gaze fell upon the 50,000 Northmen ready to move and organized in columns infront of Winterfell, "They could potentially take down any kingdom before it's completely assembled its armies."

"Aye," Kevan said, never once taking his eyes from the steady trickle of soldiers moving precisely and holding their weapons professionally, unlike the levies who probably never held a sword in their hands, "Should we increase the Westerland's standing army?"

Tywin shook his head, "We're hard pressed to match the production rate of the North's mines as it is. We can't afford to take men off the mines and lands to enlist them because of a threat that may never come."

"A marriage alliance then?" Kevan proposed.

"We have no daughters of proper stations to offer to Brandon Stark and Ned Stark wouldn't even contemplate marrying a daughter or a son of his to a Lannister," Tywin said shaking his head.

"Your rice, my lord," A maid said bowing to Kevan who took the dish with a huge smile.

"What are you doing Kevan?" Tywin said with a grimace.

"Oh this?" Kevan said happily, "I've scoured the Westerlands for some rice but I only find it scarcely. I thought I would enjoy it while we're here since it's in abundance."

Tywin looked distinctly uncomfortable and Kevan frowned, "Weird though, Cersei tells me they have barrels of it at King's Landing. Is the Stark boy barring some of his products to the West?"

"No he's not," Tywin shook his head.

"You had something to do with this didn't you?" Kevan said with realization at his brother's tone. The only people that were able to understand Tywin with a glance and affect him were only Kevan and Genna. Not even his son Jaime could understand him as good as his brothers.

"Yes," he said briefly.

"Tywin, it's not logical to forbid any food you don't like into the Westerlands…" Kevan said uncertainly looking at his brother.

Tywin spared his brother a disgusted glance, "I'm storing it."

Kevan remained silent for a moment, "You expect the prices of rice to rise in the future?"

Tywin closed his eyes at his brother's stupidity, "No, Kevan. I'm storing a crop that cannot be spoiled in any way as long as it is stored in a dry place because it would be an immense help to any future sieges."

Kevan nodded his head slowly, "That's well thought. How much do you have stored?"

"2 of the old mines at the top of Casterly Rock are completely flowing with rice."

"Tw- Two mines?" Kevan asked incredulously. Two mines full of delicious rice hidden from him in the heart of his home?

"Indeed. No one but I is allowed inside." He said directing a knowing gaze towards his brother.

Kevan sighed, the sacrifices one had to for his family, and nodded to his brother briskly before excusing himself.

He steeled himself. He was going to defy Tywin for the first time since his birth.

He was going to buy a couple dozen barrels back with him to his Manor in Lannisport.

* * *

 _ **The Three Sisters, The Vale of Arryn.**_

Jon stood at the front of his ship, the wind blowing heavily against his face as he could see the island which he was supposed to take nearing in distance. He could feel Ghost nearing him softly and watching the approaching islands with his red eyes.

His part of the fleet was supposed to take Sweetsister, Lord Manderly was supposed to take Littlesister and Lord Karstark Longsister.

Unlike the eastern coast of the Vale, the northern coast was filled with mountains and rocky shores. No harbors whatsoever were on the North and the closest reinforcements would have to come from the Fingers, which were convienetly threatened from the south as well, so abandoning their castles and reinforcing the Three Sisters wasn't even in the realm of possibility.

They were utterly alone.

Jon took half of the _Knights_ while the other Lords filled the remainder of their crews from their own Knights and soldiers. Their mission was simple, kill every single man with a sword in his hand, with a sigil on his chest and annihilate the nobility of the Three Sisters. As soon as the islands were completely defenseless, Lords appointed by his cousin would arrive to colonize the islands in Northern style, gain the love and gratitude of the common people and heavily garrison the castles and defenses of the island.

"Prepare to land," He yelled to the assembled soldiers as the crew began to ready the stairs as he watched the men of house Sunderland assembling in hastiness as alarms began ringing all over the island. These weren't the Stepstones were one had to fight his way to a good landing spot, nor was it Seaguard where generations of the now extinct Ironborn fruitlessly tried to take it. These was a glorified den of pirates with no natural defenses to it. So when Jon's men landed from the north, east and west of the island. The Sistermen scrambled to defend their island.

Jon shook his head at their foolishness. They should have retreated into their castles; Brandon strictly ordered that any man not holding a sword was not to be touched. He wanted to give a message, not slaughter the entire inhabitants of the Three Sisters.

Indeed from his position as they were almost at the beach now, he could see that most of these men wore mismatched armor if any. Only a few hundred men could be considered soldiers. The others were pirates.

Not so different from the Stepstones then. He thought shaking his head. He know if he just ordered his men to charge they would likely destroy them before dawn, but the Knights of Walpurgis were one of the most disciplined troops in the world. They attack in formation and could the most complicated tactics were others would fail miserably.

"First row! Dismount!" He yelled.

The trembling but admittedly snarling Sistermen watched confusedly as they braced for a charge that never came. Instead, the first rank snapped tightly in one row and kneeled with their pikes standing horizontally and their shields interlinked. 15 more rows snapped into place until the men formed a rectangle with pikes protruding from every direction and shields covering them completely.

The confusion didn't last forever though as the first volley of arrows arrived. The men didn't react visibly as the arrows fell aimlessly on their shields. As soon as it passed, Jon yelled the order from the rear, "Forward."

It was a methodical pace, stopping as every volley of arrows sailed at them, and moving towards the assembled Sistermen. Soon enough, the fuckers decided that the shields were useless and decided to try and rout us with whatever pitiful cavalry they had.

"Hold your shields!" Jon yelled to his men while other commanders in the parallel phalanxes echoed his orders.

While most levies would have shook or even quivered at the sight of a cavalry charge, his men didn't. All he saw was the narrowing of their eyes and tensing until the moment where the first charge was close enough to crash against their walls.

With the first charge came the first blood spilled in the day. Whatever didn't smash and crash under the weight of their horses were pulled down by the pikemen standing in the second row and stabbed as soon as he was down and dead. By the time the last horse arrived, they were knee deep in corpses and blood.

Jon grimaced as he stepped over a man choking on his own blood and quickly pushed his blade through his heart, ending his struggle. He took a deep breath, he couldn't show any mercy, not today.

He could hear the creaking of the siege engines having been built and catching up with the men now behind him. _Good, they were just in time._ He thought.

Only when Jon looked behind him did he realize the level of destruction. A trail of blood, death and men were skewered behind his troops, while he had lost none. They had better armor, better training, discipline and weapons.

It wasn't war or battle. This was pig slaughter.

"My lord," a voice interrupted his melancholic thoughts, "The rest of their men have fallen back into the castle. Should we secure the town?"

Jon nodded, it was an obvious thing and from his look the man looked like a commanding officer so it was only out of courtesy and respect that he was asking for Jon's order, "Commander," he hesitated before giving the last order, "Capture every man with a sword if you can. Not at the cost of our soldiers own lives though."

The man looked uncertain at his orders but nodded nevertheless and loudly relayed the orders which were repeated by the rest of officers.

"How long until the siege engines are ready?" Jon asked the head of Battle Engineers that was accompanying him.

"An hour till we set up everything, my lord," He scratched at his beard, staining his face from the grease and oil, "We would have finished it in less, my lord. But this is a prototype," he grinned toothily, "The Sistermen volunteered to have it tested on them."

Jon smiled faintly at the grinning man and sent him on his way.

He followed the men breaking down doors and securing houses. Slaughtering those who resisted and taking a leg or arm from those who they could. Not that they were looking forward to a happy end.

An hour of screaming and fires passed a little bit too fast for Jon's taste. The remaining men and children were warned that if they left the confines of their houses they would die.

"My lord," the now returned officer approached him, his sword bloodied and the direwolf sigil on his shield covered with splatters of blood, "The city has been secured."

Jon gave him a nod and turned towards the head of Engineers, "Whenever you're ready."

The man grinned and turned back to the construct they were working on tirelessly for the last hour. It was just one simple big crossbow, although he could see that the mechanism of propulsion was different. The two arms of the siege engine were made of wood. Ropes were attached to each arm were the springs of it. The ropes are made what he could see was… acromantula silk. That must have cost a pretty penny.

"Load the scorpions." The man yelled.

The group of workers and engineers quickly snapped into work dragging the largest cart he's ever seen, which was coincidentally made of reinforced iron, slowly near the cranes they set.

Six engineers jumped on the cart as soon as it stopped and began unscrewing the roof of the cart quickly until it slid into the ground with a heavy thud. Then they jumped inside the cart and began tying the ropes of the four cranes around whatever was inside before signaling for the men that it was okay.

The biggest cast iron scorpion bolt Jon have ever seen soon came into view as it was lifted and carefully placed in its place, then the Head of Engineers looked over everything and motioned that it was ready.

"At your call, my lord," The man said, bouncing eagerly on his heels from excitement.

Jon only raised an eyebrow and asked, "Aren't you going to move it in front of the door?"

"Oh, no my lord, that would be such a waste of our bolts."

Jon shrugged and gave the man the signal to fire.

It wasn't instantenous as Jon thought, instead the men started to rotate a winch which in turn twisted the ropes and pulled back the bow arms of the weapon.

"FIRE!" The man yelled gleefuly as the man arming the weapon nodded.

And what a bolt it was.

You have to understand Jon's skepticism. They were aiming the bolt to go along the walls not aiming for a weak spot rather they meant for it to take down the entire south wall of the castle.

And surprisingly it did, with an explosion that lit the whole island on.

The sheer power and momentum released by the bolt shook the ground under them and caused a few engineers to fall on the floor and miss their moment. The bolt practically passed through the thick walls like a knife through hot butter taking an entire side of the castle with it and skidding further to the other side of the castle.

In battles where siege engines were used, usually only a part of the walls fell, which gave the defenders a slight advantage over the slightly huddled attackers. This one however, killed every single man that stood even near the entire south wall and crumbled it to the ground, practically inviting us to take the castle.

And take we did.

The men discarded their pikes and phalanax formation and took on their short swords while still remaining in tightly packed formations to defend themselves. The phalanax was sadly only useful on open field, but when it was used, it was absolutely devastating to whoever dared and attack them.

As he slashed and stabbed anyone in his way through the heavily barricaded door that just fell into the room which he could only assume where the lord of the castle was hiding, he closed his eyes one last time for the amount of children, men and women that were awaiting their deaths after this final stand.

 _Was it worth it?_

 _All for sending a message?_

 _Was it honourable?_

Jon has killed before, slit throats of men that have done nothing but irritate his cousin. But a part of him always held desperately to his father…

His eyes darkened as he lost himself in memories.

 _"Bastard," Catelyn Stark hissed at him as she took Robb from his arm and began lecturing him loudly that he shouldn't associate himself with an abomination born of sin and lust._

He ducked as a slash almost took his head and locked blades with a man wearing the sigil of Three women's heads, white with black hair, on a barry wavy blue and green field.

 _Triston Sunderland. The Lord of Three Sisters._

"Come to finish your ancestors massacare?" He spat as he once again striked, which Jon parried and countered with one of his own.

 _"You'll always be a bastard," Catelyn Stark told him, "Nothing more, nothing less."_

Jon snarled and pushed forward, causing the greying Lord to stumble backwards.

 _"A lady shouldn't associate herself with bastards Sansa," Septa Mordane said with pursed lips._

He rolled out of the way and slammed the pommel of his sword into the man's face.

 _"You will dine down with the rest of the riff raff," Catelyn Stark told him as she towered over him, "A bastard has no place in the high table."_

The man screamed charging again with his sword high, and Jon leaned away from the blade as it swept past him.

 _Ned Stark looking at him sadly but doing nothing, while his wife looked at him coldly and reminded him that he was a bastard and insulting him in front of his brothers and sisters._

Jon's anger welled up inside him as the face of the man in front him twisted into the face of Catelyn Stark and began pushing and slashing way faster than the old man could parry or block.

 _Hoster Tully narrowing his eyes at him as he spat sarcastically, "Ahh, the honourable Lord Stark's huge mistake." While Jon's father could only look sadly at Jon._

Lady Catelyn was now on the ground as Jon stabbed and slashed at the body.

 _Brandon Stark banged the table strongly enough to make the legs creak under the force of his slam, "Bastard or not, he's still a Stark." he whispered softly, "Watch your tongue Tully or the next time you insult my kin, Riverrun would suffer the same fate as Pyke."_

He could faintly hear the men calling for him and stopped stabbing and slashing for a moment as his mind cleared. Catelyn Stark mocking face no longer stared at him, instead it was a bloody stump of a face of the proud man who was Lord Sunderland.

He looked at what he had done and back at his sword, covered in bits of bone and completely drenched in blood before returning to reality.

"What should we do, my lord?"

Jon took a moment to take his breath.

He looked at the sons of the now dead Sunderland lord and his daughters and noble ladies kneeling in the ground and looking on fearfully.

 _"I'm sure whoever disrespects you would suffer in a way that would make a Bolton cringe," Jory said to a 10 year old Jon snow._

Jon looked the waiting officer in the eyes and gave the order, "Gather every one alive to the execution block. Bring all the dead bodies as well."

He walked away ignoring the wails and screaming of children and their mothers pleading for mercy.

He made his choice.

His only true family was his uncle Benjen and cousin Brandon.

His brothers were Ramsay and Brandon.

He would slaughter a thousand woman and child for his cousin.

 _The second Rape of Three Sisters is only the beginning._

* * *

 ** _Author Notes;_**

 _I'm not in the habit of naming chapter. But this seemed appropriate!_

 _As always._

 _ **REVIEW**!_

 _Your reviews and suggestions are very often used and help heavily in inspiration and boost the new chapters._

 _Till next chapter,_

 _LordOfTheGrey_


	24. Chapter 24

_**Brandon Stark, Runestone, The Vale.**_

While hundreds were being massacred on the executioner block at the Three Sisters, Brandon Stark stood on The Great Wolf as it docked in front of Runestone.

Runestone, the seat of the Bronze Kings of the Vale, stood proudly against the splashing waves of the Narrow Sea with its dull black walls that matched the walls of Pyke, a stark contrast again the green valleys and mountains of the Vale behind it, the bronze First Men runes gleaming against the shiny sun.

Brandon descended from his ship to find the Lord of Runestone, a giant man with greying hair and the famous bronze Royce armor, standing patiently with his hands clasped in front of him.

The man bowed, "Runestone welcomes you, Lord Stark."

Brandon nodded, "Thank you, Lord Royce. Have the rest of the Lords and Chiefs arrived?"

At the mention of the Mountain Clans, the man grimaced but nodded nevertheless, "They are gathered at the Great Hall, my lord. I would have delayed the meeting until you have rested, but tension is running high as it is."

Brandon sighed, the hatred between the Vale lords and the Mountain Clans have lessened in the past few years but was still there, "I've wasted enough time as it is getting here. Please lead the way, Lord Royce."

"Of course, my lord," He said.

"Have you spoken to your son, Lord Royce?" Brandon asked the man in an attempt to break the silence, "I've heard he became a Ranger on the Night's Watch."

"Aye," he said, the corners of his mouth curling slightly as his eyes shone in pride, "I'd have hoped to meet you on my way to the Wall, my lord. But we were met by your Uncle Benjen instead."

Brandon frowned, "I apologize, I may have been on business in Azkaban."

"Your uncle has been a most gracious host, my lord," The man waved him off.

As they entered the walls of Runestone, Yohn Royce found the Lord of the North staring intently at his Bronze armor, "Runes of the First Men, my lord."

Brandon nodded, "I recognize them. Does it still work?"

Yohn's face turned solemn, "Magic is gone from the lands, my lord."

"But have you tried testing it?"

"Aye," The man nodded, "It works as any armor would. No magic protection."

Brandon frowned for a moment, "Have you tried recharging it?"

"Recharging….?" Yohn said, clearly confused by the word.

"Yes," Brandon nodded, "Re-empowering the protective spells on it?"

"I have no knowledge of how such a thing is done," He replied, clearly baffled.

Brandon hummed for a moment before stopping the giant man entirely and poking and staring intently at the man's belly, "Next time you execute someone, do it in front of a Weirwood tree, and let the blood flow to the roots of the tree and on the armor."

Yohn coughed awkwardly, "That sounds suspiciously like witchcraft, my lord."

Brandon held back an irritated sigh, "Before the Andals came from Essos into Westeros, and the First Men had traditions, had magic, and had power. If House Royce forgot who his true ancestors were, then we up in the North, in Winterfell, haven't forgotten."

"We're the oldest House of First Men descent in the Vale," He said indignantly.

"Peace, Lord Royce," Brandon said, "I mean no offence, only advice."

The man nodded stiffly and continued to walk, before his body seemed to release the tension and slumped tiredly, "I apologize, my lord."

"What for, Lord Royce?" Brandon asked, seemingly puzzled.

"For my defensiveness," He said looking towards the nearing door, which housed a cacophony of noises and servants scampering in and out, "We were Lord Jon's most loyal bannermen, for his wife to spurn us in such way and pay back our loyalty with throwing one of us out of the Moon's Door as if he was a common poacher."

"But that's not what's really bothering you, isn't it?" Brandon said smirking.

"Whatever do you mean, my lord?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

"House Royce should've ruled the Vale instead of Foreigners from Andalos. I believe the title bestowed upon you before the Andals was the High King of the Vale, the Fingers and the Mountains of Moon."

Yohn Royce stopped entirely in his tracks and confronted Brandon, "That is treason to our liege. We only mean to remove Lady Lysa and her madness before she destroys the Eyrie, not usurp Lord Jon's son."

"Of course, Lord Royce," Brandon said, turning around and entering the Hall but not before leaving a parting message to the Lord of Runestone.

"But do you remember?" He said, alluding to the famous words of House Royce, not bothering to check the reaction of the man.

As Brandon stepped through the doors of the Great Hall, it was as if a dam broke and a wave of noise gone through, Brandon had to dodge a pitcher thrown in his way.

"Announcing, Lord Brandon Stark, Lord Paramount of the North and Winterfell, Warden of the North and Hand of the King," the herald said loudly with a trumpet to compliment the announcement.

Brandon nodded gratefully and turned to the now silent men of the Vale, "We haven't even fought a single battle and yet, you're fighting amongst each other."

"Why should we let those fucking Andals seat their pretty little arses on our lands?" One of the clansmen said, "These lands were our homes long before they ever set foot on Westeros."

"It was the home of the Children of the Forest as well but you don't see them pressing a claim for the Eyrie," Gerold Grafton snarked from the side.

Timmet spat on the ground and said, "You fuckin' Andal, you come to our homes, take our lands and castles and claim them as your own?"

"I was unaware this was a debate over the Andal invasion that happened six thousand years ago." Lord Royce said.

"Of course you wouldn't want to speak of it," Timmet said, "Your house bend the Knee when we, the blood of the First Men, refused."

"I don't believe Lord Stark has left his newly appointed office in the Capital to listen to us squabble," Benedar Belmore said, missing the twitch in Brandon's eye at the mention of his office. He received a raven at Azkaban that the king has appointed Tywin Lannister as acting Hand of the King in his absence.

"What is it that you want?" Brandon asked the Clansmen.

"Our rightful lands!" One yelled, "To take back our homes and live as Valemen instead of being spurned by those pretty lords."

"And you shall have it," Brandon said succinctly.

"My lord!" the rest of the lords exclaimed astonished.

"Believe it or not, Lysa Arryn is not going to go down easily. We cannot fly our armies into the Eyrie to end the conflict. This is war, my lords, and in war, battles happen, men fall and castles are taken. I propose that the lords who refuse to yield to us are destroyed and their castles and lands given to the Chieftains of the clans."

As the Clansmen broke out in a cheer, "that does not mean that you are free to do whatever you want."

As the cheers fell he said, "My house is one of the purest and oldest Firstmen Houses in the entirety of Westeros, we rule half of Westeros alone and even then we act as any other lord would," He said looking at the clansmen attire, "Not so prissy as the lords of the Reach of course, but nobility has its requirements."

The men broke out in a weak chuckle at the quip at the Reach and Brandon added, "Therefore all of the awarded Chieftains and future lords would have to be educated as any heir would, until a time where they are fit to rule, and a Regent would act in their stead in a lordly manner until they are ready."

Before they had time to refuse, "Also, all the men would be educated by the maesters I would be sending, they would have to pay fealty to the Lord of the Vale and respect their neighbors and lords. The heirs of those future lords would be fostered at Houses of the Vale to strengthen ties and allow them to be raised in a proper way fitting Lords."

"You would have us throw away our traditions and kneel to their Septons and gods?" A man- Shagga was his name, yelled at Brandon.

"I pray to the Old Gods as any of you does," Brandon said with a raised eyebrow, "and at the same time I hold the highest office in the Seven Kingdoms."

He looked over the assembled lords and clansmen. The clansmen looked extremely different from their previous state before the treaty, now dressed in armor, although mismatched, and cloth instead of furs, "You've already started to change after the treaty. You became chieftains of towns and settlements instead of wandering aimlessly through the mountains. You fished, farmed and some of you became blacksmiths and brewers. All that is left for you is to accept that the others are as much men as you are despite their religion."

As the men stood trying to absorb all of this, Brandon stood impassively on the top of the dais waiting for their reply.

"The day that Brandon son of Brandon of Clan Stark carried Shagga on his shoulders and threw him to a tree, we agreed to treat with him, since then we've been living a better life, we don't have to raid the Andals to live, we've rarely fought with one another." Chella, a dark little woman said after a moment of silence, "Chella named you that day Chieftain of the First Men, and you haven't led us astray or broke your word. Chella would follow your word once again Chieftain Stark."

"The Stormcrows and the Burned Men would follow you, Stark."

"As well as the Moon Brothers," Another yelled with a bang on the table.

As the rest of the clans swore their allegiance to Brandon, he couldn't help but look with a smug smile at the astonished faces of the Lords.

"We have a war to plan then, gentlemen." Brandon smiled.

A roar went throughout the castle as the men cheered their agreement.

The Maester interrupted this glorious moment running into the Great Hall out of breath waving a letter, "My lord, a letter from Moat Cailin has arrived."

Brandon frowned, what could have happened already.

Had Robb betrayed them?

 _No the loyalty compulsion still held._

Were they ambushed?

 _Before even getting out of the Neck?_

Impossible

Thankfully, Brandon didn't have to wonder any more as he practically ripped off the letter from the Maester.

At first glance, it was a normal looking letter, except that goddamned flowery scent that was trailing everywhere after it.

Perhaps his cousin had weird preferences. That was going to prove problematic in finding a marriage though.

He shook his head, now was not the time.

He opened the letter and with every word he read, a feeling of horror and dread settled deeper into his stomach as his face paled, much to the confusion and horror of the assembled Lords in front of him.

 _My beloved cousin, Brandon,_

 _In turning over my mind over your abrupt departure from Winterfell, I have put myself into great agony, worrying over you every day._

 _I could only place ink on paper when all I desire is to see you back safely with my own eyes. How do the days find you?_

 _I know that you are definitely busy, defending the North from its enemies, but I also know that you're lonely away from the warmth of Winterfell and I hope that my letter could provide a ray of light in the grimness and darkness of war away of home._

 _I pray for your return every day to the Seven and the Old Gods, as does my Lady Mother._

 _Promise me that you'll return to us cousin, safe and unharmed._

 _I shall be awaiting your return at Moat Cailin with a heavy heart._

 _Love,_

 _Your cousin,_

 _Sansa Stark._

Brandon stood unmoving staring at the letter in shock for a few moments before Yohn Royce shook him back to the living, "Is everything well, Lord Stark?"

"Uhh… Yes," He shook his head, "Everything is fine, Lord Royce. The long trip must be catching up to me."

"We could delay this to a later time, my lord…." He suggested uncertainly.

"That would be lovely, thank you!" Brandon nearly bolted out of the room, and discretely vanished the letter with an _Evanesco,_ although if he had to be honest, not even _Fiendfyre_ could cleanse that letter from its evilness.

On his way to the chambers however, feeling dirtier than an inferi stuck in the bottom of a lake, he took notice for the first time of the serving girl accompanying him.

She walked in front him, nervously sneaking glances filled with lust and adoration back at him when she thought he couldn't see.

It wasn't out of the ordinary, almost every serving girl and wench stared at him with unhidden lust. He thought about it for a moment in his head, going over it before remembering the blasted letter and with that, any thoughts of resistance crumbled.

He smiled charmingly at the girl causing her to blush and almost stumble in her steps, "Is the room still afar, my lady?" he asked the now blushing maid.

"N-No, Milord, just around the corner." she said, her long -lashed blue eyes flicking up to Brandon face. When she saw he was looking at her with unveiled lust, she blushed an even deeper shade of red, a red that contrasted the deep black color of her hair.

As they walked past the corner, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her in, pressing her against the wall and looking directly into her eyes.

"Milord?!" the girl asked, her voice shocked and yet full of anticipation, almost as if she had been waiting for him to do this.

"I think I should,." Brandon said, his voice heavy with desire. He lowered his hand to her dress, pulling it up and placing his hand upon her thigh, rubbing his thumb gently over her soft skin, eliciting a deep moan from her.

"Milord, we shouldn't!" she began, before being cut off as Brandon pressed his lips to hers, pushing the bile that threatened to get out of his stomach from the earlier letter, slipping his tongue inside her mouth, causing her to moan once again.

"We should." Brandon said grinning, as he pulled away from her.

She nodded quickly after hesitating but a moment, the adoration in her eyes obvious.

He pushed her into the room, closing it behind him with a bit of wandless magic and letting her down gently.

Upon looking at Brandon undressing, the girl's eyes darkened with desire and a blush crept on her face as she tried not to stare at his sculpted body.

When he was undone, she looked back up to see Brandon approached her and put his arms around her and leaning down to claim her mouth back. She moaned as his tongue battled against hers and squealed as she felt his hand groping her rear tightly.

Brandon pulled away once more and unlaced the back of her dress with one fluid pull, causing the dress to pool down at her feet.

As she stood in all her glory, Brandon took her in for the first time. Her skin was creamy and her breasts were just a handful with perky pink nipples, with an hourglass figure. Brandon thought that this would suffice to clean off the dirtiness he felt from that blasted letter.

He pushed her down on the bed and began nibbling down her neck and sucking the soft skin gently, elicting groans and moans from the girl, he continued to trail kisses down her body, taking both her nipples into her mouth until she whimpered from pleasure.

They kept going on until he finally reached her mound which was surprisingly kept bare, "Milord!" She gasped as he licked her, "Lick me there, milord!"

Brandon grinned wolfishly and started whispering softly in parseltongue as the vibrations sent the serving girl into a quivering mess of juices. As her first orgasm ended, Brandon took hold of his already hardening member and with one hand he rubbed his cock against her slightly open channel to gather a little lubrication then slowly entered her.

The girl gasped as her tight sheath gripped his cock and felt every ridge and vein on it, the folds of her pink flower stretching to both sides, the stimulation was added as a mouth engulfed her stiff nipples once more, lapping and sucking at them alternately. A hand sneaked down at her cunt to tease and flick her tiny nub up and down.

Up and down her breasts went covered in sweat and saliva as she felt pleasure like none other she ever felt before, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing around her room until a burst of warm liquid that shot up her cunt caused her to orgasm in a scream of ecstasy.

Brandon looked at the gaze who was almost limp from exhaustion and plopped down on the bed beside her with a plop. He really needed that, he thought grinning to the roof.

"May I stay, milord?" The girl asked in a quiet voice.

Brandon raised his head and looked at her, before nodding and patting the place beside him, "Come here."

The girl's eyes lit in adoration and love as she practically jumped and snuggled into his side and placed her head on his chest.

Brandon played absentmindedly with her hair as a thought struck him, "I've never got your name, my lady." He said to the girl who was… purring.

She looked up to him, her face only inches from his, "Sansa, my lord," she said quietly, before laying back on his chest.

A horrible gut wrenching sound echoed from the kennels, as the wolf felt the pain and horror of its master.

* * *

 ** _Greywater Watch,_**

Roose Bolton looked towards the assembled lords that accompanied the red-haired Stark to the Riverlands in his usual silence with a critical eye.

It seemed Lord Stark diverted the bulk of the North's professional army to his wayward cousin. Whether because he doubted the effectiveness of Robb Stark as a general in commanding normal levies or because he knew he wouldn't need any of those troops in the Vale, Roose didn't know.

Any man knew that the Vale wouldn't be taken in open battle; it was too rocky and riddled with mountains. Dropping soldiers, no matter how well trained they are, in such a treacherous terrain where the enemy has lived and fought for centuries, was not wise at all.

They may prevail over them with superior training, but they would suffer heavy losses, and the Lord of the North never lost.

He didn't know what to think of the Amethyst-eyed Stark to be honest. His house has lost much during previous rebellions against the Starks in attempt to take control over the North and unless a rock falls from the sky to level Winterfell and the surrounding buildings to the ground, the North would remain in the hands of the Starks for a _long… long time._

It wasn't all bad however. While the Flayed Man of house Bolton struck fear in the hearts of its enemies for thousands of years, it wasn't always the most… _comfortable_ houses.

Its land, as any land in the North was hard to farm and not so fertile to yield actual profit, barely sustaining itself. Coupled with the taxes they had to pay… well you get the picture, minor houses in the Riverlands lived more comfortably than his.

 _"But not anymore_ ," Roose mused, as he gazed at the running grey direwolf banner leading the troops.

Anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms, the revolutionary weapons and advances would be met by no little defensiveness from proud old lords who are too stuck in the old days and content to remain in the past.

But not the North,

While most innovative lords would introduce inventions and such orders periodically and slowly, Brandon Stark didn't.

He literally dumped invention after invention and order after order on them, completely overwhelming them.

And the Lords of the North obeyed.

Roose liked to think of himself as a smart man, and as such believed that there is no such thing as good luck.

It was all planned.

He could have chosen any invention or act to start with, but he deliberately began with proving his worth to the Lords.

It all began on that harvest feast more than a decade ago.

A boy of six name-days, introducing methods that are only known to the Lords of the North, knocking down Greatjon Umber, a man known as a giant in the North, without even moving from his seat, and everything fell into place.

It was at moments like this that he liked that he didn't drink wine. His mind was always sharp, always calculating and looking beyond the obvious.

Increasing the yielded harvest and almost making the North, or its economy at least, independent from the Seven Kingdoms was the first step. Of course, he still made his lords rely on him by providing those steel plows and seed drills.

And everything fell into place.

As soon as the methods proved its worth, more followed, wealth came in, prestige rose, and the North prospered.

All that was needed was that little push on the harvest feast, and everything followed.

At first he thought that some of the older more traditional lords would stand against him and his new world, but that was not to happen. Heirs fostered and men taught and soon everyone saw that when they listened to the Lord of the North, they prospered.

It was inevitable that the older lords would change as well, or die bitter old men alone.

 _"And now Karstark can't go on without his precious Pomegranates imported from the Summer Isles each week,"_ he thought.

Brandon Stark could tell the lords of the North that should they jump off the Wall, a dragon would rise and lift them and be forever bound to their families, and they would jump before he even mentioned the rewards.

All was not lost however; his liege lord was ruthless in battle and generous in peace times.

He has chosen his heir, Ramsay Snow… now Bolton as his companion in his travels and from Ramsay's accounts the boy was as ruthless as a wolf with nothing of that nonsense Honor attitude of Ned Stark. He was a true wolf of the North.

So while the Boltons wouldn't be the overlords of the North anytime soon if ever, they had a strong leader for the North who wouldn't lead them astray.

Roose was for the first time in a long time, content.

That is if that god's damned idiot in front of him would take the time and think before he spoke.

"We have bridges on the Fork, they cannot block all of them, my lord," Greatjon Umber said.

"How the fuck did we build that many bridges in a few months' anyway. Those blasted Freys took 3 generations to even build one!"

"Cofferdams were built along the river and the foundation of the piers of the bridge were cast inside, my lord," One of the engineers, where did those blasted fuckers come up from anyway, answered.

"I still think we should siege Seagard, from the sea at least, before crossing the Green Fork," Robb said.

"And allow the fucking Riverlords to leave us hanging at the Neck?" Robin Flint, one of the many lords of branches of house Flint said angrily.

"Better than leaving our rear our flank threatened by the Mallisters," Robb argued.

Roose decided that enough was enough, he was here on orders from his lord, and he was going to act as such.

"The young Stark speaks true," Roose said, as the rest of the lords quieted to listen to the lord of the Dreadfort, "They have no hostages. The soldiers we have are just that, soldiers, not men dragged out of your farmlands and holding a sword. Your levies are back in their factories and farming their lands. We have no reason to rush instead of remaining cautious. I vote to send a small fleet to besiege or at least threaten Seagard."

Roose knew from the raven sent to him by his lord that Mallister wasn't going to even think of attacking the North, and his allies and his future family in law, but it was better to give him a reason instead of making him appear as a craven who holed up in his castle while the rest of his neighbors burned.

The Greatjon nodded reluctantly, "Aye, Lord Bolton's words have wisdom in them," he said to the agreement of others, completely ignoring the lock of shock and indignation on the red haired Stark's face.

Roose looked at Robb, reminding him that he was supposed to be the commander of this army. He coughed awkwardly, "Could you please have your Maester send a raven to the nearest Northern port, Lord Reed?"

The crannogman nodded, "Of course, Lord Stark."

Robb nodded in thanks and dismissed the rest of the lords.

Roose sighed; it was going to be a pain in the ass to make a confident man out of the Red Stark. He had a good head for strategy, but most of the lords distrusted him and as such were reluctant to accept any word from him.

He entered one of the dainty rooms assigned to them in Greywater watch by the Crannogmen, he had a letter to write and a son to find.

* * *

AN:/

Lemon because… well, because I can.

Also, I believe that a normal lord wouldn't be educated as good as the heir of Winterfell and future Warden of the North, so it's a bit believable to think that Robb wouldn't be as good as he was in the books and the show.

Cheers!

LordOfTheGrey


	25. Chapter 25

_**The Chronicles of a peasant in the North, Pt. I**_

* * *

Winter was finally setting in, and Ian had to go check over his lands… well lands maybe a bit of an exaggeration.

You see, his family had an insignificant strip of land that he, along with his father and 6 brothers farmed and occasionally looked after the few sheeps they owned, while his mother and two sisters took care of the small house they owned and lived in right beside the mighty castle of Winterfell.

Actually scratch that, that insignificant strip of land belonged to Lord Stark and they only farmed it.

Ian sighed heavily, he couldn't even boast to the poorer men and children about his family's land. The new boy lord might just decide that he took insult in a dirty peasant claiming the Stark's land as his own, never mind that they have lived and farmed in it for 5 generations.

It was hard to live in such a big family as smallfolk. Oh, nobles could afford as many kids as they want but smallfolk? Most kids died in their first 6 moons. His parents, Old Gods bless em, managed to pop 10 children and would've kept going on if it wasn't getting so damn crowded.

It was unfair, he thought. A boy of five ruling from a castle that could comfortably hold all of Wintertown citizen's inside its warm walls, while he and the other hardworking men who busted their asses off every day at the fields had to stay in shanty wooden houses that only barely staved off the winds and did nothing to ease the sharp bite of the cold.

"Oy! Malcolm!" Ian called out to a red haired lanky boy, "Where the fuck are you going?"

"Town Center," Malcolm called back without stopping, "Lord Stark is back and the men say there are new orders and jobs!"

"We just fuckin' finished repairing and expanding the fucking castle. They want us in new jobs already?" Ian asked incredulously.

"Maybe they'll give away the new lands we plowed," A man answered Ian's rhetorical question.

"Stop fuckin' guessin' and get your asses to the town center," the rider sent out by House Stark called from his horse.

"Ayy, m'lord," They grumbled under their breaths.

As they neared the center they could see that the traditional elevated stand was occupied by a man reading from a scroll and announcing loudly the new orders by Lord Stark. Ian wished he could read. Perhaps he might be able to live inside the castle and be more useful if he was literate, something that no one else in their town was.

"First order of business," The man yelled as everybody quieted down, "By orders of Lord Brandon Stark, Lord of the North and Winterfell and Warden of the North, each farmland is to be divided into 3 fields, 2 fields would be sown with crops using the new seed drills the castle would provide, and pipes of clay would be installed to help drain the fields. That means no fallowing half the fuckin' land."

The herald apparently noticed the blank looks at the men's face and sighed, "Be at the largest field east the castle tomorrow and one of Lord Stark's men would show you."

He coughed and looked nervous for a moment before adding, "Every family with three or more male children would have to enlist one of them in a new building project…"

Whatever he was going to say was drowned by the yells of the men and women. Building projects meant easy money in the winter when the land was almost impossible to farm, but in the first few moons of summer? It was almost impossible for some families to handle their lands without their children. It already took a huge amount of time to tend to the lands and produce a harvest that, after the tax taken by the lord, would leave them some to eat until the next one.

"… To be trained and apprentice as new builders, with 3 meals a day and a roof over their fuckin' heads!"

All the men gaped in silence and the man added, "I heard some of the men at the tavern say that Lord Stark made a new steel plow and would be rented to you cunts. Old Greg swears that Lord Stark promised that it'd cut through the soil like a knife through hot butter."

"Every man, woman and child should register their names and pick a fucking last name for their families if they want to keep livin' on their lands." The herald continued, covering over the excited chatter, "Waste of ink and parchment, if you ask me."

And so the Colberts were born.

His father sent his younger brother Nate to the Builders academy as it was called and they got one less mouth to feed and his brother got to learn a new craft, and soon after his brother Edgar followed.

With two less mouths to feed, and more time to

Soon enough it was time for a draft, as it got to be called, once again.

His sister Gilly was next, to the fabrics factory. Then two of his brothers to the breeding facility and took their sheeps, which Lord Stark compensated us for them. And the last two brothers to leave were to become a sailor in the new fleet Lord Stark was building, and the other to become a clerk at the citadel.

If this wasn't enough, they were getting relocated from their home. Apparently, Lord Stark has declared that shanty houses and buildings had no place in the North. New towns and houses would be built in an organized way.

His father and mother were living comfortably. They could probably manage to farm the whole fucking land with no help now. Lord Stark would rent a small army of oxens and cattle from the Breeding facility to plough the fields in exchange for a small tax of each land to feed them. Seed was no longer scattered but distributed using machine drills.

Well, Ian had to admit, the land looked beautiful and organized at harvest time now.

It just wasn't theirs anymore. It's not so special.

The whole farmers union, or guild as father liked to call it, owned the tools, the cattle and the seed. They organized everything, collected taxes, and told you what to plant this year and how to plant it, sold fertilizers.

They were basically servants who had nothing to do but just follow the instructions from the guilds and wait for their approval for every single action.

Even their bloody harvest wasn't stored at their barn or house anymore.

Instead, huge fucking "Silos" housed the entire land harvest and was divided accordingly.

Instead of a house on their land with their cattle growing among them, they now had an Guild Identification Card and Number to access the amount of stored bushels they have inside the silos, and they get the wool and milk from whatever cattle is to their name, which is also stored in their " _account_ "

While Ian once hated the fact that his house was so small and crowded, he loathed going back to that spacious warm house. Once, his brothers and sisters could keep each other warm. But now, it just wasn't home.

He even had to shower. Every fucking week, or his mother would have his hide.

Oh and don't let him get started on this school, as they called it. Every hour a day, they would meet in the town hall to learn their words and arithmetic. He doubted any fucking man in this fucking town couldn't read by now. Bad hygiene and illiteracy were heavily punished, but most men were in it for the new jobs that you couldn't apply for unless you could read and write.

His brothers were in the Naval Guild, two were in the Breeders Guild, the other two in the Builders Guild, and the last was in the fucking Citadel now.

Last he heard, his youngest brother Jon wanted to go the Healers academy and become a healer himself. Fucking cunt.

And Ian?

Well, Ian couldn't fucking join the farmers guild until his father has passed and he became the head of his family, nor could he get that fancy tattoo that identified their Identification Number and guild.

Not that he wanted it anyway.

"Get out of the fucking way!" A man dressed in black shouted and snapped Ian out of his grumbling thoughts.

The change was immediate. It was as though the Others' came and sucked whatever warmth was in Wintertown at this time of the summer. There was not a single man or woman speaking in the entire street. Merchants and shops that lined the boulevards stopped their interactions and silently gazed at _them_.

Down King Harlon Stark's street they came, advancing in the boulevard. At the front a man walked in his pitch black armor that seemed to suck the light around it. The only identifying badge on him was the large sigil painted on his breast plate; a skull with a wolf jumping outside its mouth.

A general, he thought, given that the color of the wolf on him was gold and surrounded by 5 stars.

Eight commanders followed him; the only difference was that their sigil was that of a silver wolf with four stars surrounding it, and then came the Captains and their officers, followed by the legion that they commanded.

They all wore the exact same armor, fitted by the same weapons. The only difference was their sigils, or as he learned in school, their ranks. Their faces obscured although the hollow eyes inside the skull unnerved everyone enough that they thanked god they couldn't see the Death Eater's cold eyes.

Regardless of the monotony and nothing exciting was happening. No one moved an inch. Because everyone could see, no longer was it regiments of men marching, but something uncanny, inhuman, a force of nature, unstoppable. It was not of this earth, but mysterious, ghostlike. The feeling of dread and coldness that just accompanied their presence, it unnerved me deeply, even though I knew these men were the ones that would protect me and my home should a war start.

The Death Eaters moved throughout the boulevard as smoothly as a train to Azkaban. There were no halts, no open places, and no stragglers. For the line was completely straight and so compact was the column, so rigid the vigilance of the file-closers, that not a single arm or sword swayed out of its course. No further orders were given, beyond the first march from the general. Ian had no doubt that they would walk until they dropped dead or their commanding officer told them to stop.

As Ian gazed around him, he compared the sound of a river from the view times he went fishing with his Pa, when a river raced between the cliffs of a canyon, to the stamp of iron-shod boots against the cobblestone echoing throughout the alleys.

And suddenly, they were gone. It was as if a spell was lifted. With the last of the Death Eaters disappearing to the next boulevard, excited chatter broke out. Children followed and admired the men. The unbearable silence took its toll.

And that's when Ian decided to become a Death Eater.

"I want to sign up," Ian said to the recruitment officer.

"Which division?" The officer asked with a raised eyebrow.

"The Death Eaters," Ian said resolutely.

The officer chuckled mockingly, "Training season starts in a week."

Training?

Well, it wasn't like he could expect to just jump in and drill with the Death Eaters any time he wanted.

"That's alright," Ian said, "How long is it?"

The man smirked, "Two years."

Ian's face fell at that.

Two years was a bit too much, wasn't it?

But being a Death Eater would mean that he would have the respect of everyone in his family. Not being the son of a farmer anymore. No more would his brothers come bragging about their new promotions while he sulked in the fields.

Ian nodded one again, a little more uncertain than the last time, "Okay then, sign me up."

The man sighed, and shook his head, "You'll quit in the second week. Name?"

"Ian Colbert."

"Age?"

"Three and Twenty."

"Residence?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry?" The officer looked at him confusedly.

Ian repeated, "Yes."

The man closed his eyes tiredly, "Where the fuck do you live, you bloody idiot?"

"Oh!" Ian exclaimed, "78th building, Alley Number 6, Dorren Stark's Boulevard."

The officer scribbled his signature on a piece of paper and gave it to Ian, "Be at the training base at four in the morning, a week from now. If the clock tower finishes ringing its fourth bell, you can forget about coming and come back after two years, you got it?"

"Yes ser! If you don't mind me asking, how many have enlisted?"

"Four thousand, and only 500 qualify for Death Eater training, and only 15 graduate. Do you want to know how many teeth you'll lose if you bother me again?"

"No! No, Ser. Thank you for all your help," said Ian as he took off from the recruitment office.

A week later, at the third bell of three in the morning, Ian was off to start Basic training.

The men gathered in the Training Base courtyard as the Training Commander gave his welcoming speech, well… welcoming was a bit generous.

"From now on, you fucking cunts are under my command. My name is Commander Travis, although you'll be dealing with your direct officers under the barracks you're assigned. Your Basic Training is what's going to save yours and your families lives if push comes to shove. Some of you enlisted because they want to be fucking soldiers. Well you ain't the first to dream, and you're definitely not the fucking last group of arrogant fuckers that think they could join the Blizzards or the War Hammers or even got their eyes set high on joining the Death Eaters."

The man looked over the recruits, taking in their appearance and silently judging them even before their training, "Your training is going to be brutal and unpleasant. There's no going easy on you. This is made to weed out the weak and keep the strong. Not all of you are going to finish it. Hell, not all of you are going to make it to first week. You have until the second week; that's when the first physical assessment is. If your officer thinks you're a wanker who isn't going to fit, you'll be discharged."

He sneered at them one last time before saying, "Lieutenant Marcus will be giving you the schedules."

Lieutenant Marcus bowed his head at respect at the Commander before stepping on the now empty dias and saying loudly, "First Call is at 4 in the morning, you have 30 minutes to clean your beds, eat your breakfast and shave every fucking day. If I see even a hint of stubble you'll be running 10 miles instead of breakfast. Starting from tomorrow, two of you will hold patrol in the barracks for one hour…"

And thus began Ian's adventure in the Army.

Basic Camp wasn't all that bad. He was assigned to Barrack 8 under command of officer Rickard. A stern man, but much better than the other cruel officers he heard some of the men at the other barracks grumble about.

We slept in the same beds, had the same haircut, wore the same clothes, ate the same food on one long table.

We had to run 2 miles in the second week, then 2 in the third but in a shorter time and so on, until we could run almost effortlessly, long and high jumping, heavy pack running, pushups and pull ups, endurance exercises, swimming, climbing and grappling, drills and marching training.

The Basic Training wasn't all about physical training. Map reading, rudimentary healing or first-aid as the officer called it, rules and regulations to follow, learning of the core values of the soldiers. Everything and anything was assessed and written down by the officers responsible of your platoon.

Wake up calls an hour after we finished training for a surprise obstacle course was the normal. If Ian had to be honest, he almost quitted a dozen times during the first week.

Ten weeks later, battered and bloodied, he graduated from Basic Training Camp and was eligible for joining the most sought after camp in the whole fucking North, the Dark Graveyard.

Ian never really knew why they called it that until he entered it. Rows upon rows of tombstones signifying the men that died during the training were inside the training camp that no man was allowed into a 20 mile radius of. The borders were opened once every two years, to let out the two dozen men that finished the training, and let in the next batch of corpses.

He wondered for the millionth time if the men, the Death Eaters, could truly be called men after what they endured inside?

He gazed at the huge Iron Skull between the two towers at the Gate with a sense of trepidation and a little fear, and looked back towards the green fields of the north.

It would be a long time before Ian saw the green color again.

* * *

Just a little something I wrote since I can't seem to come up with anything new to write these few days.

Hope you liked this little… omake? I guess.

Anyway, I was hoping for someone to beta the earlier chapters one by one if he/she has the time?

I re-read the first few chapters and cringed at the ton of mistakes I made, but sadly I don't have the time or energy to rewrite anything alongside the hell that's university.

So, till the next chapter!

LordOfTheGrey

Two corn

Three wheat

Per year.


End file.
